


Firestone

by yokomya



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Anxiety, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Implied/Referenced Cheating, Minor Clarke Griffin/Raven Reyes, Minor Emori/John Murphy (The 100), Minor Octavia Blake/Lincoln, Past Clarke Griffin/Lexa, Past Finn Collins/Clarke Griffin, Slow Burn, Underage Drinking, Underage Substance Use, minor Bellamy Blake/Gina
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-05-20 05:14:26
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 32,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5992816
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yokomya/pseuds/yokomya
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It means you’re still here.“</p><p>It's weird to say to him of all people. Being deep and serious isn’t really what they do. She waits for Bellamy to make a joke out of it or to ignore her completely. His expressions remains unreadable and he pushes himself off the desk, eyes lowering.</p><p>“Did you expect me to leave or something?”</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. You Can Be Player One

“Aren’t you rooming with Bellamy Blake?”

This is the third time today some girl has come to Clarke with this. She doesn’t know how much more she can take.

“Yeah,” she answers, faking a smile, “And _no_ \-  I’m not his girlfriend.”

The girls leave after they hear that one line, relief all over their face. Great.

It’s only been a week since Clarke started at this college. She’s one of the spring freshman, which has it’s ups and downs. For one, you pretty much get to skip most of the orientation crap but one of the setbacks is getting stuck in whatever room you manage to find left. Which means she had to double up. And the most appealing dorm she could afford was a co-ed. Hm. No biggie. She could care less if she ended up with a girl or guy as long as they were decent. Unfortunately, that’s how she got in this messy situation.

With Bellamy Blake.

Who, from the talk on campus, is either a heartthrob or a douchebag - or possibly both from what she can tell.

The first impression she got about their shared room was how messy it was. His side had trash on the floor, scattered clothes, really - the guy didn’t even try to hide that he was a slob. Not only that but his fridge and shower stuff was strewn on her side, which is against the rules but incredibly rude and well - he’s lucky she’s not in with the Dean.

Oh yeah and his opening line when he met her was - _Huh, I didn’t think you would be a chick. Isn’t Clarke a dude’s name?_

What an outstanding guy.

Clarke has to shove headphones in her ears and take a breath. She’s already been interrupted twice in the last twenty minutes. One guy asked her if she wanted to _study_ back at his dorm. She didn’t let him down easy.

And the girl just now was a Bellamy groupie from the sound of it. How did word get around that fast about her living arrangements with Bellamy? She has zero friends. She stays in the library after class to do homework, doesn’t spotlight herself in the slightest, and yet everyone seems to _know_ about it.

As she taps on the computer aggressively and enters her - what her mom likes to call - _study zone_ , she makes some progress on the paper. If there’s one thing she’s great at, it’s an essay. A book report, critical analysis, you name it, Clarke can push one out in less than an hour at top notch quality. Even if her classmates picked on her for being so _goody goody_ , she wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for that.

Her scholarship is her best friend.

Someone slides into the seat next to her and stares, she can tell from her peripheral vision.

It’s the creep from before. She yanks the earbuds out and glares, about to rip him a new one, but stops.

 

Bellamy.

 

“So, princess, I have a proposition,” he greets nonchalantly, leaning on the table, “I need the room tonight. What do you want for it?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Clarke snaps, already on edge. She _needs_ to pop this paper out or her head will explode.

“Woah,” Bellamy observes, a smirk spreading over his face, “You’re riled up.”

“Maybe because I’ve spent the whole day avoiding your fans and now you’re here, in my face,” she deadpans, “I thought the library was supposed to be an escape.”

“ _Fans_?”

“Whatever you want to call these girls. Somehow they know we’re rooming,” Clarke explains, typing away, “If I get asked whether or not I’m your girlfriend one more time -”

“Hey, I have nothing to do with that,” Bellamy shrugs, “What I _do_ have control over is our shared room. So, I’m asking politely if I can have it for the night. You have someone to stay with, don’t you?”

“Yeah, tons - I mean, why sleep in my own bed when I can harass someone else for theirs?”

“Funny,” Bellamy grunts, “Find someone to stay with.”

“Not a chance.”

“Hey, I asked nicely. It’s one night.”

“One night that I’ll be sleeping in _my_ room,” Clarke agrees, fingers stopping so she can shoot him a warning glance, “Wait a minute. All the girls coming up to me asking about you and here you are wanting the room - You’re one of _those_ guys, aren’t you?”

He says nothing and stares back at her, any amusement from before wiped clean off his face, as if he knows where she’s going with this.

“I get it,” Clarke says mildly, crossing her arms, “But it’s not happening. I’m not renting my room out every weekend. I paid for it just like you. You better find another bed to impress your girls in.”

Bellamy’s mouth twitches and he stands up, stalking off.

Great.

Now she can finish this paper.

 

 

Clarke returns to the dorm after dinner, eyes tired and dry. She needs some sleep after today. When she grabs the doorknob however, it doesn’t budge.

Annoyed, she jingles it again and pulls the key out of her pocket - only to find that the key is gone. What the _hell_?

She shakes the door again and walks down the hallway to the RA’s room. Nobody answers. Angrily, she goes back to her room and pounds on the door.

“Bellamy, open the door! I’m locked out.”

No response.

Awesome.

Not only is she tired and locked out, Bellamy’s gone too. She swoops around the dorm, knocking on other RA’s doors but everyone’s freaking gone. It isn’t until she reaches the third floor, that someone finally answers and follows her back to her room. When they get there, the door is open though and the RA is looking at her curiously.

“Uh, I guess my roommate got back,” Clarke says awkwardly. The RA leaves and Clarke rushes into the room, searching for her keys in her backpack and under her bed, everywhere she could have left them -

“Looking for these?”

Of course.

Bellamy dangles the keys from his fingers at the doorway for a few seconds, as if he expects Clarke to be a cat and try to get them, so when she doesn’t he gets bored and tosses them at her.

“What is _wrong_ with you, Bellamy?”

“I told you I needed the room,” he responds, yawning, “And you wouldn’t hear me out.”

“Because I’m not giving up _my_ space,” she counters, “So you stole my keys to punish me for that?”

“I stole your keys because you pissed me off,” Bellamy retorts, “And you were staring at me all _judgy_ \- it was annoying.”

“You’re five years old,” Clarke grimaces, dumping books out on her desk to take some of the internal load off, “I thought I was going to have to buy a set of new keys. Your joke wasn’t all that funny.”

“Calm down, princess, you got your way.”

Bellamy flops onto his bed, dropping the conversation, and drags his laptop onto his stomach, opening a bag of chips in the process. Clarke can’t help but feel unnerved by that. He was acting as if he had something to be angry about. Nothing was wrong with defending her right to stay in her own room. She wasn’t obligated to give him the room for a night.

 _He_ was the one in the wrong.

Taking in a deep breath, she goes to the closet and unbuttons her blouse, folding it into her laundry bag, easing some more pressure off. Her mom taught her to do that, keep the room tidy because it keeps your mind tidy.

“Uh, I’m right here,” Bellamy calls out, “What are you doing?”

“Showering,” Clarke answers, annoyed, “I’ve done it all week.”

“Yeah, when I’m not in the room,” Bellamy protests, “At least warn me, jeez.”

“I’m sure it’s nothing you haven’t seen,” Clarke rolls her eyes, grabbing a handful of pajamas so she can take it with her to their private bathroom. She brings the towel with her too and shuts the door, stripping down in there instead.

What was his problem?

She’s not allowed to sleep in her own room or undress in her own room - what else can’t she do? Stressed, she showers longer than usual, relishing in the hot water beads on her skin, letting herself relax after what feels like forever.

“Don’t worry, I’m dressed,” Clarke blurts, exiting the bathroom, returning to the bedroom where she drops her towel into the laundry. She tugs on her pajama shorts so they don’t hike up too much and sits on her bed, eyes landing on Bellamy.

“Not that it’s any of your business,” he states, “But I have a girlfriend.”

“You’re right, none of my business,” Clarke responds, pulling the covers over her legs and stomach, easing her head down into the fluffed out pillow. She shuts her eyes and faces the wall, ready for sleep to hit like a brick.

Bellamy must have been in the middle of a movie or show or game - who knows - because noise is erupting from his laptop, resounding out in the room.

“Please, turn that down,” Clarke demands, head swiveled just enough so her voice carries. Bellamy looks at her in shock.

“It’s like ten. Are you _seriously_ going to sleep?”

“I’m tired and I asked nicely,” Clarke sits up, “Don’t you have headphones or something?”

“Nope.”

“Borrow mine then,” she offers, getting out of bed to snatch them off her desk. She puts her hand out to him, already dizzy from the warm shower and fatigue. He looks up with a frown.

“Why should I? I don’t take orders from you,” he snorts, eyes back on the laptop screen.

“I can’t sleep to all that noise,” Clarke scoffs, “Just use them and you can stay up. I can sleep. Everybody wins.”

“Let me get this straight,” Bellamy begins, pushing the laptop off his lap and standing up now - making their size difference evident - “I request one thing from you, one _little_ thing, and even offer to provide compensation - which by the way, you shut me down without blinking. Yet, _you_ expect me to grant favors? Is that how this works?”

Clarke stays quiet, backing up a step. Bellamy smiles emptily and shakes his head.

“Let’s not forget the part where you accused me of being _one of those guys_ \- isn’t that how you put it?”

She doesn’t answer him. Her chest feels like it’s on fire as he scrutinizes further, picking apart what she’s done wrong.

 

_Stop staring at me. Stop pointing out everything I’ve done._

 

“What? Nothing smart to say?” Bellamy laughs, “Fine, do what you want.”

He takes the earbuds from her hand and shoves them into the computer, already laying back down with a blank expression.

Clarke shuffles back to her own bed and slips under soundlessly.

 

 

The afternoon is gray the following day. Clouds graze over the sky in huge fluffy packs. Clarke looks up into them and a drop of rain plops on the end of her nose. She hurries back to the room to avoid the weather and finds solace in the fact that Bellamy is gone.

Studying is easier here than the library. At least when she’s alone it is.

She can focus, get things done without worrying about distraction. That’s how it is for a few hours. She finishes a couple of assignments and reads for the upcoming test next week, almost falls asleep in the process - the usual. Rain begins trickling down the window, creating a soothing white noise to study to.

The door flies open and ruins the atmosphere.

There’s Bellamy, throwing his backpack halfway across the room, slamming the door, plugging his playstation up to his tv, already microwaving a box of nachos - God, it irked her.

She opens her mouth to tell him to turn the tv volume down because he should notice that she’s studying, he should have the _courtesy_ to be quiet without being asked, and it’s frustrating how oblivious he pretends to be. Instead of yelling, she shuts her mouth quickly.

The words don’t spill out.

Bellamy’s dark hair is damp and there’s water droplets cascading down his skin and neck, disappearing into his leather jacket. He shrugs it off and tosses it on the floor, creating a twisting feeling in Clarke’s stomach.

 

_Pick it up. Messy. I can’t concentrate._

 

Bellamy pops the microwave open and goes to his desk, puts his feet up on it - and he’s _still_ wearing his shoes - and picks the gaming controller up without sparing her a glance. She has to hold back the yell that’s about to burst out of her as all of these things piles up, bothering her to no end. She hates it.

But she stops herself.

She can control it.

She can ignore it.

It’s okay.

Going back to her books, she ducks her head and plugs earbuds into her phone so she can at least drown the game out with some music. That would be fine but the game is loud, even over the music, defeating its purpose altogether.

 

_Turn it down._

 

Bellamy keeps pressing buttons on the controller, never peeling his eyes away from the screen. Clarke inhales and exhales slowly, like how her mom taught her. Get rid of the pent up stress, breathe it out. Everything is fine. The Earth is in motion. You’re good.

She drops her earbuds and books, turning to him.

“What are you playing?”

When she asks the question, Bellamy pauses - checking her out from the corner of his eye like he’s not sure if he heard right - and shifts in his chair, stretching his legs a bit more.

“You probably don’t know it.”

“Try me,” Clarke responds, hopping off the bed and crossing the room to his side as if she was invited. “What is it?”

“It’s a street fighter game,” Bellamy answers calmly, hitting more buttons at an insane speed. Clarke watches, earnestly interested now.

“How do you play?” she asks, “What do you do?”

Bellamy is dumbfounded. At first she thinks he’s going to ignore her completely but surprisingly, he drops his legs to the floor, pushes his seat back and hands the controller over.

“How about you try it out for yourself, princess?”

Clarke takes the controller carefully, wondering if this is some kind of way to make her look dumb, but decides to go with it. He isn’t smiling but his eyes are and that means he isn’t totally still angry about yesterday.

“Okay,” Clarke mutters, looking at the tv. As soon as the word _fight!_ boldly blows up on the screen, she panics. “Wait, tell me what to do-”

“Punch,” Bellamy explains, putting a thumb over her own, on one of the buttons. “See that? It’s a square. That’s punch. Try it.”

She presses down a few times and on screen, her character throws a fist out at the other, knocking him backwards with a bone crunching sound.

“This is graphic.”

“And an awesome way to get out aggression.”

She considers that. Their ways of relinquishing stress are certainly different.

“Fine, what else?” Clarke challenges, watching the battle on screen, “Oh, crap, this guy is kicking my ass.”

“Jump is the bottom button,” Bellamy tells her, guiding her thumb to it, and then he moves it to the top button, “and this one is for strong attacks. You can do combos with the triangle and square.”

“Uh huh,” she notes, having trouble actually implementing it. As she looks down at the controller, pushing the buttons cautiously, a loud yell pierces out of the tv and causes her to look up.

“My character died,” Clarke gapes, “Aw, no, wait, that’s not fair.”

“Give it another shot,” Bellamy says, standing up, “You can sit.”

“Oh, no, that’s your-”

“Relax,” he cuts off, going to her side of the room so he can drag her chair where she’s standing, “Here.”

For some reason, she does sit down, next to him, trying not to stiffen when his knee accidentally bumps hers as he falls back down into his own chair.

“I have another controller,” he pipes up, pulling one out of the drawer of his desk, “Wanna have a little one-on-one?”

And even though he’s looking at the game, Clarke catches it. The smile that lights his whole face up. She hasn’t seen him smile like _that_ before.

“I guess it can’t hurt,” Clarke shrugs, fingers curling around the controller until they’ve turned white. He stares at her and then snorts, propping his shoes up on the desk again.

“Look, you can even be player one. Don’t worry, I’ll go easy.”

She doesn’t really know what that means but it sounds kind somehow, coming from him, so she nods in answer and let’s him show her the rest of the buttons. They stay like that, playing the game, and Bellamy’s obviously not trying hard but she doesn’t mind. When she gets good, she’ll ask him to play for real so she can beat him fairly.

“I’ll own you one day,” she groans, leaning back in her chair as the character on screen dies for the umpth time. Bellamy throws his arms into the air and puts them behind his head, also leaning back.

“Keep dreaming, princess.”

“Hey, I’m learning fast,” she defends, eyes on him, “Right? Am I good?”

He stares at her for a minute and breaks eye contact, “You’re alright.”

Clarke smiles anyways until she notices his phone lighting up on the desk. The time reads that it’s already midnight. Oh no, it’s so late already. Then there’s the name that pops up on the incoming call.

 

_Baby girl._

 

“Your girlfriend,” Clarke states by mistake. She meant to keep that to herself. Bellamy glances at her and from the look on his face, she knows she was right.

“Gotta take this,” he mumbles, picking the phone up and leaving the room, shutting the door behind him.

Clarke stays up for another hour, mostly to finish homework but also because she can’t sleep. Bellamy doesn’t come back to the room that night.

 

 

“You could have texted.”

It slips out of Clarke’s mouth the second she sees Bellamy the next day. He’s grabbing food at the burger joint on campus, standing in line right in front of her. When he turns around, there are shadows beneath his eyes.

“Last time I checked, I don’t have your number,” he says gruffly, “And what are you talking about? Text about what?”

“Well, you left and didn’t come back. You could have been eaten by a bear or something for all I knew.”

Bellamy’s lip twitches up into an almost smile and he pays for his food, stepping out of line as she gets hers.

“If I was being chased by a bear I don’t think my go to reaction would be sending you a text about it.”

“Don’t be a dick,” she grins, walking with him out of the dining hall, back into the sunlight of the courtyard. She stuffs the burger into her backpack to eat after class and crosses the stone pathways. Bellamy appears as if he’s going to cut through the grass but doesn’t when she doesn’t.

“If you wanted my number so bad you could have asked for it,” he muses, catching her off guard. She throws him a look.

“Oh, please. I’d rather let you get mauled by the bear.”

Amusement shadows his face as he follows her. And Bellamy is good looking so people are staring in their direction every now and then. She swallows down the anxiety.

“Are things with your girlfriend okay?” she wonders on a serious note, “You were gone all night. I mean, sorry, that’s intrusive. You don’t have to say.”

He shakes his head with a laugh, following her all the way to the front of the building she has class in. Bellamy looks at her and then away.

“If you really have to know, it’s all good.”

She nods, pulling her backpack up a little over her shoulder, squinting at him, “Well, see ya. I have class.”

“So do I,” he says, waving an arm out to the building, “You think I came all this way with you for conversation?”

Even though his tone is light, she takes the words kind of hard, feels them pierce through her brave front, and doesn’t know how to respond. She nods and enters the building without him. It’s stupid to be affected by something so insignificant. He was obviously playing around.

Despite that, she doesn’t look back to see if he’s still there.

 

 

It’s in the evening, when Clarke goes to the room, that she finds Bellamy isn’t there and there’s no sign that he’s been back yet. Relieved somewhat, she sits at her desk, let’s out some of the steam of the day. Something bright stands out under her nose, on her desk.

A sticky note.

A practically illegible one too.

Her frown deepens as she picks it up gingerly and reads it.

 

_yo_

_I’m staying at gina’s tonight_

_here’s my digits_

_I know you’ve been dying to get them_

_XXX - XXX - XXXX_

_and_

 

_my bad if I was a dick_

 

 

It’s stupid. To be so easily affected by something so insignificant. It’s in her nature, something she’s grown up with.

In Bellamy language, the note can be translated as his best effort at an apology.

Imagining him writing it, she can’t help but smile.


	2. Princess

“What are you doing?”

Clarke is barely phased when Bellamy enters their dorm, shutting the door slowly, dropping his backpack off by the closet. Instead of giving a reasonable explanation, she picks up more loose papers on the ground and places them in a neat pile on his desk, getting back on her knees to check for more lingering trash.

Bellamy is at her side in a flash, crouching.

“Did you not hear me? I said, what are you _doing_?”

“Just a little cleaning, your side could use it. You can thank me later.”

She reaches under the bed for an empty soda can but he yanks her out from under it, unsettling expression on his face.

“This is my side, princess. Don’t go through my stuff without permission.”

“I can’t stay focused with all this trash on the ground,” Clarke remarks, shoving him out of her bubble, “I asked you like three times this week to clean up and you haven’t. So, I’m taking matters into my own hands.”

“You need to stop,” Bellamy glares, standing now. “I keep my trash away from your side. That’s the end of it.”

“No, it’s _not_ ,” Clarke insists, mouth falling open as Bellamy grabs the pile of papers that she stacked on the desk and dumps them back on the floor - kicking them around so they scatter.

“ _My_ stuff,” he repeats, “On _my_ side. I can do what I want with it.”

“What is your _problem_?”

“You’re the one with the problem. If you can’t stand my side so much then don’t look at it.”

Instead of arguing, she reaches down and snatches the papers up one by one again, swatting his hands away as he tries to take them back. They get into a mini tug of war and Clarke falls over, whipping her head up at him angrily.

“At least shove it all under your bed if you want to live in a pigsty so bad."

His expression becomes grave and he picks up the rest of the papers himself and drops them on his desk. Without a word, he crawls under his bed and retrieves about a dozen items of trash, miscellaneous papers and plastic bottles, aluminum cans - you name it.

“Can’t do anything without you complaining,” he mumbles under breath, slinging the trash into the bin, going back under the bed for more.

Clarke is still sitting, hands curled on her knees, watching him, lips tight. He keeps at it for a few more minutes and when he’s done, sits down in front of her, arms draped over his legs, cocking his head to the side as if waiting for acknowledgement.

They glower at each other for a while, neither deciding to move first or speak first. But soon enough, Bellamy cracks and drops his shoulders, throwing a hand out in disbelief.

“Well? You happy?”

“Very,” she comes back, quick.

“That’s nice,” he nods, sarcasm seeping through, “We can’t have you upset. Wouldn’t want that.”

Clarke keeps up the hard exterior and decides she shouldn't respond to that.

 

_Don't let him toy with you._

 

“Fine,” Bellamy sighs, standing up and brushing his pants off, grabbing a coat. “Just don’t snoop again. It’s an invasion of privacy.”

“Why would I snoop? I could care less about whatever you’re hiding over there,” she replies sharply, flying up from the floor.

“Whatever, just back off.”

He buttons the coat on and runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back a little out of his face. As he walks to the door, he looks back, aggravated.

“Have fun pent up in your _clean_ room.”

Bellamy goes before she can respond.

 

Clarke has almost drifted off when the door opens suddenly, breaking her out of a much needed slumber. She rolls over in bed and rubs at her sleep induced eyes, making sure it’s Bellamy and not some creep. The light from the hallway floods in, confirming that it is him - which really isn't much better than a creep - but she settles back into the pillow and shuts her eyes anyways, ignoring him.

There’s some shuffling - a _clink_ of keys hitting desk wood - and it isn’t until a few minutes pass that Clarke’s nose picks up on a new scent. Alcohol.

Bellamy goes to her side of the room and opens his fridge - it took a lot of convincing for her to let him keep it there - and there’s the sound of glass bottles hitting each other. She inwardly groans, not wanting to deal with this right now, but sits up regardless.

He’s ducking at the fridge, sticking more bottles in, taking them from a carton under his arm. Once he’s put the last one in, he shuts the fridge and the room goes back to darkness.

“You’ve got to be joking,” Clarke voices, hard and irritated. She can’t tell if Bellamy’s phased by her sudden consciousness but if he is, he doesn’t show it.    

“I swear nobody will get away with robbing your future house,” Bellamy replies, “You’d wake up if they breathed too loud.”

“It’s 3:00 AM,” she points out, blinking at the shadow that’s gone back to his side, “And you brought alcohol?”

“I’m storing them for a friend,” Bellamy defends, putting his coat in the closet and jerking his shirt over his head. “Deal with it.”

"You could get caught with it."

"Not if you don't rat me out."

There's a pause and she wonders what his expression must look like. Maybe he's thinking twice about keeping it here - because he probably doesn't trust that Clarke won't snitch. 

Done with the argument, Clarke bites her lip and jerks the covers back over her shoulders. He doesn’t comment anymore either and locks the door before getting into bed. A little time passes and Clarke notices a dim light on the ceiling.

“You have to wake up in less than five hours, Bellamy. Can’t you play on your phone tomorrow?”

“I’m glad you’ve memorized my schedule,” he replies, not giving it much thought, “And let me guess, the light’s too bright?”

“No,” she swallows, shutting her eyes, “I just thought you’d wanna sleep.”

He’s quiet and so is she. The low hum of the heat fills the room, creating a nice sound for Clarke to drift off to. Before she can, Bellamy speaks up.

“Hey,” he says, almost a whisper, “It’s really not too bright, right?”

Clarke’s chest does this weird thing - it kind of hurts but kind of doesn’t. If her eyelids weren’t so heavy, she might actually check to make sure.

“No, it’s okay, Bellamy.”

 

Chemistry isn’t nearly as bad as everyone makes it out to be. At least Clarke doesn’t think so. Every lab is a breeze and she’s aware that her partner is coat tailing her for the grade. Whatever. Less debate over equations and more getting the work done at least.

Today, Johnny or Blake - whatever his name is - isn’t in class so she grows nervous. She has to find another partner.

She _hates_ group work in the first place.

Too many ways something could go wrong - too many chances of bumping heads. She sucks it up and searches for anyone who might be in the same situation. Luckily, she doesn’t have to look long because a brunette takes the seat in front of her at the table.

And wow, the girl is really pretty, the natural kind of pretty. Her eyes are smoky and her lips are painted a dark shade of pink, and the air around her is admirable somehow. Like this girl has her shit together.

Clarke is about to introduce herself but the other girl cuts her off.

“Hope you can keep up so we can get this over with."

It’s abrupt and drains the hope from Clarke’s system. So much for making a friend.

The girl is much better at science than her last partner at least. Though she barely speaks unless she’s asking for measurements or calculations. Normally, Clarke would appreciate the silence - idle conversation isn't her forte - but Bellamy's words from before have been haunting her.

 

_Have fun pent up in your clean room._

 

As if she had nowhere else to go or nobody else to see.

 

“What year are you?” Clarke brings up, sucking some white liquid into a pipet. The girl regards her briefly before swirling a glass stick into their beaker.

“Freshman. You?”

“Same,” Clarke answers, “Except I just transferred. Things at my other school weren’t working out so I came here.”

“Sounds like drama,” the girl says lightly, leaning down so she can read the millimeters to Clarke, “Why this school?”

“I heard it’s got a good nursing program.”

“Ah. Another nurse.”

When Clarke raises her eyebrow, the girl laughs and scratches some numbers off the assignment sheet.

“No offense but you’re the hundredth nursing major I’ve met.”

“Oh. My mom’s a doctor,” Clarke explains, adding on the calculator. “So, I don’t know it's something I've always dreamed about. Being a nurse and then someday a doctor."

"Nice, you have inspiration," the girl nods, sounding earnest, "I wouldn't be able to do it, take blood and stitch people up - it's too personal, too involved with strangers."

Clarke wonders about that because truthfully, she never saw medicine that way. Help people that need it, that's all.

"What are you doing then?" she inquires, jotting some numbers down on the sheet.

"Engineering," she tells - proud and even, as if she dares Clarke to make a bad comment, "And I'm doing it because I love it." 

The professor checks on their progress and is impressed at how quickly they’re finishing up. They don’t have time to return to their conversation and turn in the assignment. As the girl packs up, Clarke makes a quick decision.

“So,” she starts, “We made a pretty good team. Wanna partner up again next week? I'm Clarke by the way.”

The girl doesn’t seem conflicted about it at all and pockets her hands, blinking.

“Yeah, sure. I'm Raven.”

 

Hungry, Clarke snags a salad from the dining hall before heading into the courtyard. It's silly to be so happy about making friends with Raven - well, if that’s what they are. But it felt nice. Maybe next lab she’ll ask if they can have dinner together.

On the way out the door, she isn’t paying attention and bumps into someone, almost losing balance.

“You look peppy, princess," Bellamy greets, stepping back, crossing his arms. 

There’s a girl next to Bellamy, clad in a leather jacket like him. She looks between the two and then pops a bubble of purple gum. Oh, it must be his girlfriend.

“Will you move?” Clarke sighs, pushing him so she can get outside.

“Feisty.”

Ignoring that, she walks into the evening air but Bellamy’s hand touches her arm and tugs her back.

“Hey, hold on.”

Clarke looks back, caught off guard by the gentleness of his voice. The girl at his side pops another bubble and raises her eyebrows at the scene - looking up from her phone, curious.

“I’ll be in late again,” Bellamy tells her, “But I’ll be quiet so don't worry about losing beauty sleep.”

“Where are you going?” Clarke asks automatically. Oops. That's supposed to file under the _none of your business_ category.

“What? You need to keep tabs on me?” he smirks, ducking his head so they’re more eye level. Clarke’s words get caught in her throat, which serves to only please him even more - and she wants a witty comeback to surface but nothing happens. Damn.

“Bell,” the girl behind him barks, “Let's get going.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he brushes off, “Bye, princess.”

It occurs to Clarke that being called _princess_ in front of Bellamy’s girlfriend is not only inappropriate but demeaning. She wants to correct him, wants to alleviate the situation because his girlfriend is giving her the most skeptical gaze in existence - but they’re already walking off, chatting away as if Clarke was never there.

 

“Stop calling me princess.”

Clarke holds her head high when she confronts Bellamy in the dorm lobby one afternoon. He’s laid out on one of the couches, lax and engrossed in a thick novel. He doesn’t remove it from his face and flips a page.

“What are you going on about?”

“I’m not your _princess_ , Bellamy. My name’s Clarke.”

“Uh huh.”

“I’m serious.”

He looks up from the book, narrows his eyes as if he’s looking into the sun, and waits for her to explain. She toys with the zipper on her hoodie and bites her cheek.

“Don't call me princess in front of your girlfriend. It's disrespectful to both of us. In fact, don't call me that at all.”

“Okay?” he says slowly, looking at her as if she's lost it, “You’ve never met Gina. And if you did, you would know she wouldn’t give a damn what I called you so - what's the issue? Or do you just come up with random things to annoy me with?”

“Like I'd waste my time thinking about you,” Clarke retaliates, not sure why she bothered in the first place. Bellamy does what he wants. It clicks what he said before and she looks down at him again. “Wait, wasn’t that Gina the other day? At the dining hall?”

Bellamy thinks on it for a few seconds before he puts his hands up to his face and groans into them, slapping them on his knees, disappointed. 

"Not this again."

"What?" Clarke wonders, not understanding what she missed.

“Octavia’s my sister. _Sister_.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“But Gina’s your girlfriend, right?”

No answer.

Clarke tilts her head in wonder. Bellamy _had_ said Gina just now, right? Did she hear it wrong?

“More or less,” he agrees after a pause too long, putting the book back in his face. “But don't forget, princess - it’s none of your business.”

“Yeah,” Clarke retorts, stepping away, “Whatever you say - _Bell_.”

And she doesn’t catch the way his eyes raise and how his mouth parts a little, how he watches her back as she leaves.

 

Clarke is in the middle of Biology homework, in her zone on the bed, when Bellamy busts in with some guy right behind him. The guy looks like the kind of person you’d avoid in a dark alley - his hair is kinda greasy, his face drained of color and emotion, and the first thing he does is stand in the corner, noticing Clarke and keeping a bloodshot eye locked on her. It creeps her out.

“Stop staring,” Bellamy comments, going to the fridge, retrieving the alcohol he brought the other night.

“Just give me the fucking stuff,” the guy shoots back, gaze leaving Clarke, “That goddamn RA came by the room twice this weekend. He better watch himself.”

“Quit with the threats, Murphy,” Bellamy sighs, handing over a couple of glass bottles.  _Murphy_ stuffs them in a nylon bag - “We both know you’re too chicken shit to follow through with any of them.”

“Screw you.”

It’s strange viewing Bellamy interact with others. Although she knew - it wasn’t a sacred myth or anything - that he had other friends, Clarke somehow started to believe Bellamy was just as lonely as she was.

No, wait, she didn’t mean to think that.

 

 _Lonely_.

 

Was she lonely?

Acting as if she had zero interest in their conversation - which is half true - she scribbles some notes down, shifting uncomfortably on the bed. Bellamy rummages through his closet as soon as Murphy moves out of the way and there’s a couple of minutes of nothingness. Clarke can’t resist looking up.

“Wanna smoke later?” Murphy asks, grabbing a small object out of Bellamy’s outstretched hand - his face is still in the closet, looking for something else - “You can come chill with us at the skate park.”

“Nah, not tonight. I have work.”

“You always have work.”

“Some of us don’t have rich daddies paying tuition,” he taunts, shoving a small bag to Murphy’s chest, “Now, scram. You’re existence is freaking my roommate out.”

Offended, Clarke is about to speak for herself but Murphy simply makes a face of disgust and shows himself out. Bellamy kicks the door shut, stretches his arms, yawns, and kicks his shoes off before sprawling out on his bed. 

It's unusual. The atmosphere. Because while Clarke might spend her down time being quiet, Bellamy does not. She isn't sure how to handle his presence like this - so calm and relaxed and well, not him.

“You have the judgy look,” he states lazily, shutting his eyes and folding his hands over his stomach. That's more like it. She knew the silence was too good to be true.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You kept glancing at Murphy," Bellamy continues blatantly, "With the judgy look."

“Who's judging?" Clarke grimaces, stone faced, tapping the pencil against the bed, temper pulling in different directions. "I just didn't know you were part of a cartel.”

Part of that is true. She's on the fence with it. What to think about her roommate being a drug user. Or dealer. 

Bellamy's watching the ceiling, voice steady and apathetic as it reaches her.

"You mad?”

“Not really.”

“Liar.”

Pretending not to care, she tears out the messy attempt at notes in the binder - they’re too confusing to make out at this point, she'll just start over - and balls them into a wad, leaning off the bed to stand. 

“Hey, why don't you try to make it in the trash?” Bellamy wonders.

It comes off like a challenge. She looks back at him.

“Excuse me?”

“Go for it, aim and shoot,” he commands, raising an arm in the air and motioning as if he’s playing basketball, “Don’t tell me you’ve never played a sport - not with that physique.”

“Okay, gross,” she scorns, pushing off the bed with her calf, peeking at him again. He’s wearing his infamous expression - the belittling, overly amused one that she hates. Hates a lot actually.

“You need to find a hobby other than harassing people, Bellamy.”

“Is that what I’m doing? How about _you_ find a hobby other than studying and we’ll call it even.”

“Ha ha. You’re hilarious.”

She scrunches the balled up paper further - though the second he smirks, she regrets everything - and follows through anyways, flinging the wad into the air, satisfied by the _plop_ of it hitting Bellamy’s trash bin.

“Not bad,” Bellamy congratulates, eyes back on the ceiling, uninterested, “See? Nothing wrong with fun every now and then.”

“Shut up,” she breathes out - a stiff puff of air, “Sorry my idea of fun doesn’t involve hitting a crack pipe.”

“That’s cold - even for you,” he retorts, shutting his eyes, wiggling on the sheets with an audible sigh. There isn't much emotion to his voice so she isn't sure if actually it peeved him off or not.

“I’m gonna catch some Z’s before work so try to keep the fun volume down over there.”

Clarke doesn’t reply, regardless of how angry that makes her. She _does_ keep studying - because damn if she’ll let Bellamy stop her from doing it. His presence is so distracting though. His lips are zipped and his eyes shut but it feels like he’s still probing somehow, still finding the tiniest things to set her off with. It's almost worse than when he's busy or loud or doing _something_.

Not even ten minutes pass before Bellamy audibly sighs again, louder than before.

“I’m literally not doing anything,” Clarke points out, saving him the trouble of blaming her for whatever he’s about to say.

“That's the problem. You need to get out more. Aren’t you tired of being cooped up in here?”

“No. Weren’t you napping about five seconds ago?”

He sits up and at the same time Clarke drops her pencil, crossing her arms, prepared for whatever he’s planning to rant about. It better be good. Bellamy dangles a leg off the bed, gazing at her.

“So, being the great guy that I am - I’ve decided to take you out. I don't work until late so there's time.”

Clarke has pretty much no reaction, nothing worth inputting - yeah, no, she doesn't know _how_. What is she supposed to say to that? Instead, she goes back to her binder and starts scrawling incoherently, put off.

“Hey, I said we’re going out - Put the school crap down.”

“I didn’t agree to go.”

“Yeah, you did. With your face.”

“With my _face_?”

“Don’t act like you don’t want to,” Bellamy dares, hopping up and crossing to her side, pressing his palms into the mattress so he’s hovering - invading her personal space. “I promise I won’t subject you to the horror of being _under the influence_. It’ll be clean fun.”

“Okay, that’s not even - why would I go anywhere with _you_?”

“A decent point,” he drawls sarcastically, “But get over yourself for two seconds and come on. I can't nap with you being all -  _you_ \- so might as well put the time to good use.”

"That makes two of us. I can't do anything with you in the room at all."

"Yeah, yeah, will you get up already?"

She pushes her fingernail into the pencil wood, scratching it as she looks up and stares back at him, discomforted by the patience in his aura. She has a sinking feeling he could wait for an answer all night.

“I’ll tag along - but only because I haven’t been able to write a word since you got back.”

“Didn’t realize you found me so distracting, princess.”

“Sure you want me to come? Doesn't sound like it,” she hums, eyes back on the blank notes below.

It doesn't take very long for Bellamy to catch on to the hint. His lip curls up.

“Get your coat. _Clarke_.”

“Much better.”


	3. Thanks

Clarke has her eyebrows lifted as she drinks in the colorful splashes of light cascading across the large, crowded room. At her side, Bellamy mutters something but it’s drowned out by the laughter of children and the arcade machines going _bing_ and _pop_ around them.

“Alright, I got the tokens. Find something for us to start with,” he says by her ear, much louder this time. Clarke is about to oppose but he’s already vanished.

Oh, great, this is going to be the highlight of the year. Arcade games with Bellamy.

 

Woopie.

 

She tries not to get knocked over by any of the rugrats as she searches for something to play, just to appease him. Maybe he’ll hop off her case with this _no fun_ thing if she can prove to him that she doesn’t go out a lot because she doesn’t _want_ to.

Well, maybe she used to.

But things were different then.

 

The first thing that catches her eye is a skeeball machine. Cool. Skeeball was always one of her favorites. 

As soon as she stands in front of it, Bellamy appears again and takes her hand, dropping about a pound of golden coins into her palm.

“Do you need money?” Clarke asks, a little put off by the fact his hand fits so snug beneath her own.

“It's fine. I sell drugs, remember?”

“You’re not funny, you know.”

“Whatever helps you sleep at night.”

“You certainly don’t help with that.”

She doesn’t even bother to look up once she realizes how suggestive that came out - she can deal without seeing his arrogant smirk - and instead crams two coins into the skeeball machine slot. The fiery orange balls roll out of the socket and Clarke jerks her sleeve up, sliding one in hand.

Bellamy takes the machine to the right but waits for her to make the first move. He smirks coyly and Clarke rolls her eyes  - _damn, can’t avoid the arrogance_ _after all_.

"If I kick your ass, you have to get me something with your tickets."

"Ditto," she agrees dully, readying the throw.

She pulls her arm back and smoothly releases the ball forward, satisfied by the _plop_ of it landing in the hole with the highest points. She turns to Bellamy expectantly, happy to hear the impressed whistle from his lips.

“Damn, princess, not bad. Does this mean I was spot on about your athletic built?”

“I don’t know what the hell that means,” she deadpans, snatching another ball up, “But I played softball in high school if that’s what you’re getting at.”

“That’s kind of cheating then,” he snorts, throwing a ball. It rockets up under the glass and hits one of the middle holes.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” she mocks, tossing another ball, making it straight into the highest hole again. Bellamy gives it another shot but the ball ricochets and lands in the lowest hole.

After another throw, she can’t help but laugh.

“Kick my ass anytime, Bellamy.”

“Don’t worry,” he plays off, lightly throwing the last ball and frowning when it hits the lowest hole again, “I got you on the next game.”

They gather their tickets and move on to a zombie shooter in the corner.

“I want pink,” Bellamy chortles, taking space in front of the polished pepto bismol colored gun. Clarke holds the blue one and rolls her eyes, inserting the coins with Bellamy. The game starts and Bellamy is doing much better at this one.

“How often do you come here?” Clarke asks, blasting at a zombie coming out of the bushes on the screen. Bellamy shoots another one next to it.

“Usually with Octavia, sometimes Murphy,” he shrugs, cocking the gun to reload.

“You and your sister must be really close,” Clarke replies, distracted by the horde of monsters coming at them. Bellamy hums in his throat.

“You could say that.”

They’re silent for the next level, except for the resounding gunshots and Bellamy’s constant mumbling. One of the zombies stumbles dangerously close and Clarke’s almost out of health. Bellamy takes it out with two shots.

“Thanks.”

“I'm just keeping my score over yours."

She glances at him in annoyance.

He’s squinting a bit with the gun trained on the screen as if he’s actually used a real one. His curls are sort of scattered around his concentrated gaze and he pulls on his lip a little bit, shifting his weight, almost bumping a shoulder with Clarke but that doesn’t happen.

“Shoot anytime, Clarke,” he breaks out - causing her pulse to skip.

“Shut up,” she snaps, popping the heads off a couple zombies, tearing her eyes off of him for the rest of the night hopefully. It’s not polite to stare anyways. Right.

Bellamy racks up more points in the end after they run out of lives and then hobble off to a racing car game.

“I suck at these,” Clarke mentions offhandedly, crawling into the seat with a frown. Bellamy looks at her from the other car and his mouth twitches.

“Huh. So, this isn’t your first time at an arcade? You’re _not_ a total shut in?”

She has a witty response on the edge of her tongue but decides to keep it to herself this time.

When the checkered flag onscreen waves, she presses down on the machine pedal and shoots the car forward. The poppy music and engine revving is comforting somehow. A few minutes of playing pass and they banter back and forth for fun, coming up with some colorful new nicknames for each other. 

“I’m not the only one who sucks at this,” Clarke blurts, passing Bellamy's sports car on the game. He snorts.

“Hey, racing isn’t my forte. That’s Raven’s thing.”

“Raven?” Clarke mirrors, the name familiar. She gasps when Bellamy rams her car so it spins out of control, putting her in last place again on the track.

“Just a girl I grew up with,” Bellamy explains, “A total car geek.”

“Does she go to the university? There’s a girl named Raven in my lab,” Clarke says back, the name coming to her.

“Yeah, she goes. Does the girl in your class look like she'll kill you in your sleep if you piss her off?”

“Um. That wasn’t my first impression exactly.”

“Hm. Maybe it’s just me.”

“Sounds like you guys have history.”

The race is coming to an end and Clarke hits the ignition, speeding up until she manages to beat Bellamy over the finish line two seconds before he can get there. He turns to her, looking weirdly happy about it - a cute smile making it’s way across his face. Clarke doesn’t mind that kind of smile so much. She picks the track for the next race before she’s caught staring - She was seriously supposed to stop that - and tries to remember what they were talking about.

“So, you guys decided to go to the same college or it was coincidence?”

“Me and Raven?” He laughs, “It’s complicated. But no, we didn’t intentionally go to the same college. She's here for engineering and engineering alone - it's the pinnacle of her existence. And the fact that her best friend tagged along.”

“That must be nice, going to college with your closest friend. Do they room together?”

“He’s a guy so not a chance,” Bellamy chuckles, making a sharp turn with the steering wheel. “Oh, shit, you’re in second. I thought you were supposed to suck at this, princess.”

“So? _You're_  a guy,” Clarke reminds, “And last I checked, I’m not. If we can do it, they could live together if they wanted, right? Hey, I didn't lie. I _do_ suck. You just happen to suck slightly more.”

“Yeah but - me and you are different," he argues and Clarke ignores the way _me and you_ sounds on her ears, "Raven and Wick have been dancing around each other for like - their entire lives. I don’t know what’s stopping them from going at it.”

“Maybe they’re scared to be more than friends since they’ve been close for so long,” Clarke replies, dropping her hands from the steering wheel. The race ends with her in third place. “I went through it before. The dating your best friend thing. Not fun.”

“You sound like an old lady about to give me a life lesson,” Bellamy grins, also dropping his hands. He becomes more attentive and stands up from the seat at the same time she does.

“Let’s get some grub. I’m starving,” Clarke remarks, dodging the kids so she can make it to the snack bar across the room. She buys some nachos and waits for Bellamy to get a slurpie and they stand close to the entrance. She offers the basket and he takes a few chips, putting his slurpie out like they've shared food before and it's nothing. She almost doesn't take a sip - it's weird for them - but oes because it seems important. Man, something is wrong with her.

Clarke sucks the salt off the last chip before biting into it and meeting his eyes.

“Don’t you have work soon?”

“What happened with the guy?” Bellamy comes back instead, seemingly interested. She stops chewing.

“Huh?”

“Your best friend. The one you fell in love with or whatever.”

Clarke flickers her eyes away and scans them over the arcade, acting indifferent.

“Nothing really.”

“Oh, come on,” Bellamy sighs, following her as she crosses the arcade for a second time - except there's no destination so they aimlessly wander, “It didn’t sound like nothing.”

“What’s it to you?” She fires, dumping her empty nacho basket in the garbage on the way out the door. It's getting late anyways they can't afford to stay all night. Bellamy doesn’t protest and tosses the rest of his slurpie before following in suit outside.

“I’m curious,” he answers, stuffing his hands in his jacket, “What kind of guy did Clarke Griffin want to go to bed with?”

“Okay, you’re being rude now,” she sighs, “Not that I should be shocked by that.”

“Who made the first move?”

“He did,” she responds automatically and then tightens her lips. “Augh, I mean - It’s none of your business.”

“Did he go to school across the country or something? Is that why you guys ended it?”

“How'd you meet _Gina_?” She asks hotly, crossing her arms, coming to a stop at the corner of the sidewalk. Her shoe scrapes the concrete and Bellamy’s face falls. “Because as I recall, your love life has nothing to do with me so you don’t get to ask me all these questions.”

He holds his head higher and lowers his eyes to hers - reading her. After a mini stare off, he looks out at the darkened street. Clarke sits down on the bus stop bench, hoping it doesn’t take ten years for the bus to show up. All of a sudden a good night's rest sounds like the best thing in the world.

“I met Gina at a sorority house,” Bellamy tells her, “A party, I guess.”

Despite the tension between them, Clarke cracks a smile.

“Wait, _you_ went to a frat party? That's something I can't imagine."

“It was Murphy - he said we should go for shits and giggles. Plus, there would be lots of hot chicks and booze. Those rich kids snag the best shit.”

“Okay, it makes sense now. Anyways, how’d you end up with a sorority girl?”

He says nothing and locks eyes with her again, face a little too serious and grave for comfort. It bothers her.

“Fine,” he sighs, hands diving deeper into his pockets, “I met Gina at the party. She was in the sorority and she was cute. We sort of hit it off. I was in a shitty place back then and she listened to my drunken complaining -” he pauses, thinking over his next words, “ - And after too many drinks to count, we took ecstasy together. Then we screwed. Since we liked it, we kept screwing. Pretty romantic, right?”

Obviously, he doesn’t actually find humor in it and waits for Clarke to give input. She blinks a few times and uncrosses her arms, mouth falling a little.

“Oh. Okay.”

“You have no subtlety, do you?”

“What? I didn’t say anything.”

“It’s all over your face. I got it.”

“Got what? I’m not judging you, Bellamy.”

Bellamy stays silent. She wants to address the sentence before that - _I was in a shitty place back then_ \- but it doesn’t happen. Really, she wants him to pour that part of himself out for some reason. There’s a sudden burning desire to hear every memory Bellamy’s ever experienced, to know what makes him the person he is today, to piece together all the unknown and unexplored parts of him. Feeling awkward, she swallows and is about to speak but Bellamy picks himself up or something because he smiles crookedly and ducks his head closer.

“So - what about you and this childhood friend?”

Crap, the almost-bonding-moment has passed. Clarke adjusts her stance and bites the inside of her cheek.

Well, it's better that it passed.

“Finn lived in the same neighbourhood as me so we naturally hung out all the time,” she starts off, puffing air out of her mouth, “And you know how it is having a best friend of the opposite sex. Everyone always teased us, saying we should go out. We brushed it off over and over until one night in high school. We were in my room, doing homework, and Finn just looked at me for a few seconds and said ‘hey, wanna try going out?’ And I thought it over for about ten seconds before saying, ‘yeah, okay.’ Then we dated. Nothing over the top or dramatic.”

“You dated just _because_ \- ? Sounds like you.”

“You act like you actually know me,” she smiles sarcastically, “But I had real feelings for him. They were confusing, dumb teenage feelings - but they were there.”

“What happened then?” Bellamy wonders, “What put a dent in your perfect little love story? Did he fail to meet your standards? Did he leave trash around his room or leave the television too loud? What did he do that bugged you into breaking up with him?”

“He cheated on me.”

Silence.

It stings when she says it, like a bitter liquid on her gums and teeth. She taps her fingers on the bench. The bus couldn’t be more late if it tried. 

“But you’re right, Bellamy. Maybe it’s because I’m such a _princess_ \- go ahead, say it. I’m over all that by now.”

After a few beats, she looks up at Bellamy and he isn’t smiling or looking at her with pity or anything. He steps forward and sits next to her, stretches his legs, and puts an arm around the bench behind her casually - like he wants it to be clear he’s not doing it intentionally.

Maybe he isn't.

Except his eyes are saying otherwise.

“Nah,” he swallows, looking at her slowly, “That sucks, Clarke.”

And she’s happy he doesn’t say _sorry he hurt you_ or ask if she wants to talk about it or offer advice or any of the tactics her friends desperately tried back then. She’s glad for it. His blunt honesty is a breath of fresh air.

“Yeah but that was in the past,” she mutters, letting another sigh out, “People are right when they say don’t date your best friend. I lost mine because of it.”

“More like he was a dick,” Bellamy scoffs, “Offense intended.”

She shrugs, “It was around graduation so we were going our separate ways anyways. I kind of wish it could have been on good terms though. I mean, we were supposed to have this really tearful goodbye. I dreaded it all of senior year. But we didn’t talk anymore after, you know - so I spent my last month of high school without him. What really sucks is that it was all over some stupid fling. I hate that.”

Bellamy is deathly quiet and he’s staring at the passing cars, his jaw tight. Clarke feels stupid for spilling that last bit because that was too personal. Her and Bellamy were supposed to stray from personal. She shouldn’t have told him about Finn.

The time on her watch reads eight and she glances at him, worried.

“Do you have third shift at work? Is that why you’re late getting in the room sometimes?”

“Yeah, I got night shift,” he answers in a low voice, like that’s the furthest thing from his mind right now. Clarke wants to ask about his job or if he’s going to be late or any topic to bring his spirit back but the bus pulls up then. They hop on, leaving the conversation behind.

 

 

When they return to campus, Bellamy heads to the dorm with her but doesn’t go inside. As he lingers in the hall, she strips off her coat and turns around, curious why he bothered coming back to the dorm at all. He doesn't look at her for a moment but when he finally does, it makes her feel vulnerable. 

“Sorry about what I said,” Bellamy murmurs, “When I assumed you broke up with that guy because he did something to bug you - that was an asshole thing to say.”

His voice is calm as he leans into the doorframe, like he isn’t sure what to do with himself.

“Don’t worry about it,” Clarke smiles slightly, caught off guard by the lack of joking in his voice.

He pushes off the door and smiles reflexively back - a kind of smile she’s never seen on him. It isn’t playful or devious but something else.

 

A smile that says - _You know, I give more of a damn than you think._

 

“Sure you don’t want to punch me or something? I’d be down for that,” he adds cheekily, reverting to his regular self. Clarke opens her closet with a click of her tongue.

“Well, I didn’t - but you making it sound kinky makes me want to.”

“Go ahead, I can take it, princess.”

“Will you _please_ go to work already? Before you get fired?”

“See that? Zero subtlety,” he rolls his eyes, “Don’t hold back how much you want me out of here or anything.”

“Don’t worry, I won’t.”

She grins as he shakes his head and pretends to be hurt before stepping back into the hallway with a stifled laugh. He disappears and at the same time so does Clarke’s smile. She watches the empty space, a flutter in her chest.

 

_Thanks for taking me out tonight._

_Thanks for walking me home._

_Thanks for making me laugh._

 

“Bellamy.”

The name escapes her lips at the same time she flies to the hallway, eyes on his fleeting back. He swivels around, perplexed.

There's still that boundary, that rift between them - a foggy distance separating them. Something tells her that the fog has cleared a little, the rift has shortened maybe. 

 

Hasn't it?

 

"Let’s hang out again,” she manages, internally cringing at how lame it comes out. What was the point in saying that? I mean - there was no reason to make it sound like such a big deal. Hanging out. They did that by sitting around in the dorm everyday.

"You never got me anything with the tickets - " she adds, hoping that saved her a little embarrassment. 

Bellamy cocks an eyebrow, “Yeah? Alright, I'll grab you an army man next time. Though, I don’t think I can handle another second of Clarke anytime soon. I need a break.”

Her confidence drops a bit at the joke - especially when he turns around again. He continues down the hallway, leaving her speechless and feeling stupid for thinking anything had changed. At a loss, she steps back into the dorm, hand closing in on the door handle.

Before she closes it, Bellamy’s voice echoes out - jolting her heart awake.

 

  
“Whenever you want, Clarke.”


	4. I'll Be Good

It’s on the way to an afternoon lunch that Clarke is grabbed from behind, causing her to squeal and jab an elbow out at the perpetrator. There’s an _oof_ from behind, quickly followed by a deep chuckle. God, she recognizes that chuckle.

“Bellamy - “

“Whoah! Don’t look at me.”

Turning around, she sees that it _is_ in fact Bellamy but his hands are up and he's got a thumb pointed at someone else. As soon as Clarke’s eyes focus in on the guy standing next to him, the one who is bent over holding his stomach with a faint smile, Clarke can’t help it when it happens.

She rushes forward and engulfs Wells into the tightest embrace she can muster, gripping his suede coat, shocked tears threatening to pool over even though she’s laughing uncontrollably.

“No waterworks,” Wells pleads softly, rubbing her back, "I forgot how deadly you were."

“You're sneaky," she sniffs, meaning it in more than one way, and gives him another squeeze.

It’s hard for her to let go of him but she does and swipes away any damp leftover at the corner of her vision, bashful at the realization that Bellamy is still standing there. The amusement has disappeared off his features and now he’s looking back and forth between them silently.

“How long have you been here?” Clarke asks, now that the emotional roller coaster has died somewhat from seeing Wells' face.

“Here? As in at the school? About ten minutes,” Wells answers, folding his hands behind his back, “Your _roommate_ here insisted we look for you when I swung by your dorm. Last night, your mom told me the room you were staying in so I could come see you.”

From the emphasis on roommate, Clarke knows she might be in trouble for not mentioning it before. Bellamy certainly peaks in interest and his voice goes chipper.

“Alright, I’m gonna head out. See you later, princess.”

“Nice to meet you,” Wells adds to Bellamy’s back as he walks off. He throws a thumbs up in response and is gone. Wells raises a brow at Clarke. “Princess?”

“I tried to make him stop,” she groans, immediately looping her arm with his. “And don’t be a smart ass. I meant _how long have you been in the country_ , dummy.”

“A few days. My dad had business back home so here we are. You didn’t think I forgot about you, did you?”

“I would kill you if you did,” Clarke grins, tugging him lazily along so they could just walk and talk. “How do you like sightseeing the world? I'm pretty sure I've liked every single one of your pictures on Instagram.”

“I’ve noticed,” Wells laughs lightly, pressing into her. He radiates safety and relieves most of the anxiety she's built up today. Clarke’s chest clenches.

“You’re out photographing the wonders of the world with your dad. Every college kid wishes they were you right now.”

“Your mom told me that you love it here,” Wells deadpans slowly, looking down at her, “Is that not true?”

“It’s not that I don’t like it.”

“Aren’t you studying nursing?”

“I haven’t exactly gotten into the major yet since I have to pass a lot of prerequisites. You know, organic chemistry, biology, anatomy - basic science stuff. Plus, there’s this exam. It’s a competitive field.”

“Sounds like you. Competition.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know. I _do_ but I don’t - I don’t know.”

“You don’t know what?” Wells pauses, frowning, waiting for her to spill it. She tucks her lip under her teeth anxiously. What could she say to him? Wells senses the new discomfort and his frown deepens.

“You know you can’t lie to me right, Clarke Griffin?”

“I know,” she mutters, untangling herself from his side, “I don’t hate it or anything. I love science and I love learning. It’s just that nothing happens here, you know? I go to class, I eat lunch, I do some homework, and then I go to sleep. Maybe I listen to some music or go on social media but life is pretty cut and dry."

"Have you joined any clubs? I know how you are, Clarke, you need a push to go out of your way sometimes."

She smiles even if that isn't a good thing, because hearing someone say  _I know how you are_ is the best thing in the world. 

"Yeah, you're right. I have to try," she agrees, puffing air out of her cheeks. They say nothing for a solid minute and then Clarke toys with the end of her book bag strap. "It’s not like I loved high school or anything but honestly, I miss it. I miss my friends. Especially you.”

Wells studies her and to anyone else he would seem stoic but she catches the nostalgia crossing over him too.

“I’m sorry that I lef-”

“Don’t you dare apologise, we talked about this,” Clarke cuts in, hands at her hips, “You’re living your dream and that’s exactly what I want for you. You _can_ do it and you _are_ doing it. Don’t ever doubt that.”

The heat of the sun must be getting to her because she has to drop her head to avoid the burning on her face.

“I’ll be okay, Wells. You don’t have to worry about me.”

“You can’t ask me to do that,” Wells answers in a hushed voice, “I’ll always worry about you. You’re my best friend, Clarke. I know I can’t see you in person whenever I want to but - you’re always going to be with me. It doesn’t matter if we’re on opposite sides of the planet.”

Clarke swears the sun brightens and blurs her vision even more. She smiles brokenly and nods up.

“I missed you so much, Wells.”

 

 

The two eat lunch together and talk a lot. They talk about high school and preschool and their old friends and how their summers went after graduation, specifically after Wells left. They talk about Clarke’s classes and Wells' experiences in Africa and Asia. They talk about their parents and the shows that they keep up with and any interesting books they’ve been reading.

It’s amazing.

Clarke’s over the moon the whole time. Because honestly it’s been forever since she’s truly opened up to anyone. She hasn’t exactly made friends since starting the semester. And Fall semester was hell at her other school.

Time passes quickly while Clarke gives him a grand tour around campus. They take tons of pictures and then play a game of chess on Wells' phone for almost an hour, reminiscing and playfully insulting each other without keeping score.

Clarke wishes the day would never end.

 

It’s nightfall when Wells walks Clarke back to the dorm. They stand in front of the closed door and he checks his watch, smiling sweetly.

“Did you seriously think I forgot?” He prompts knowingly, watching her face fall at the question. She touches the doorknob of the dorm, backing away from him.

“Wells, no - “

“Clarke. Accept what today is. No point in being stubborn.”

“I’m not being _stubborn_. I want to head to bed is all. We should hurry and say goodnight!”

“And now childish,” he grins lopsided, retrieving a small box from his pants pocket. It’s wrapped in newspaper and there’s a navy bow at the top. Clarke hesitates.

“Couldn’t you have forgotten like everyone else?”

“Am I everyone else? Besides, I noticed you didn't answer the one hundred calls from your mom today.”

“Decent point. That doesn’t mean I’m not mad.”

“I can live with that.”

She takes it and can’t help the flutter in her chest as she unwraps the gift, rolling her eyes at the newspaper wrapping when she realizes what it actually is.

“Are these comics in another language, Wells?”

“I know you like puzzles. You can translate them later for fun.”

“You dork.”

As soon as she’s about to open the black box underneath the newspapers, there are footsteps coming from down the hall.

“Hope I’m not interrupting,” Bellamy greets offhandedly, maneuvering around the two in order to unlock the dorm and slip inside. There’s a tense silence.

“Why are you rooming with a guy again? Something I should know?” Wells questions, eyes more serious. Clarke shrugs.

“Just happened that way. Don’t worry, Bellamy is harmless. I mean, he’s annoying and loud and messy but - not so bad.”

“Okay.”

Clarke is glad for Wells’ trust. He believed her no matter what at least. More than she deserved half the time.

“So,” he starts, voice lowering as she continues to unwrap the box, “I know you don’t like celebrating your birthday since - what happened - but I think that you should.”

“You think a lot of things,” Clarke brushes off, flipping the top of the box off. Nothing could have prepared her for what was inside. She swallows and touches the container before fishing out the shiny object.

It’s a silver locket.

The sides are opened up already, revealing the photos inside.

“You can be mad,” Wells mumbles, down casting his eyes, “but I wanted you to know that you don’t have to forget. Even if you want everyone else to forget about your birthday - you don’t have to forget.”

And she understand what that means.

The photo inside the locket is an old one. It's of her dad.

Wells must have gotten it from her mom.

 

_You don’t have to forget._

 

She unclasps the locket and hands it over to him, lips curved up, blinking back tears. He seems surprised by the offer as she faces the opposite direction and lifts her hair off her neck. Wells reaches over her shoulders and secures the thin chain, letting it drape over her collarbones.

The metal is cold but staring down at the picture inside, she can’t help feeling warm.

When she looks back at Wells - she finds in his eyes something that makes her throw her arms around him. She doesn’t bother saying goodbye this time when he has to leave again. Neither does he.

They both know how much she hates that.

 

 

Clarke enters the dorm quietly, a little taken back to witness Bellamy laying down on his bed, facing the wall. Since he doesn’t move or speak, she suspects he must be asleep and does her best not to wake him. She leaves her shoes by the door and goes to her wardrobe for night clothes.

Slipping off her top and into a loose fitting t-shirt, her arm accidentally swings too close to the wall and makes a loud sound that causes her to visibly cringe.

“Smooth,” Bellamy voices out from across the room, not sounding sleep induced in the slightest.

“Oops,” she grunts back, jumping into a pair of pajama shorts.

No use in being quiet now.

It probably isn’t that late but somehow seeing Bellamy like that makes her feel tired. She cuts the lamplight out and locks the door, dragging herself under the covers, already texting Wells even though they just saw each other a few seconds ago.

Wells replies instantly and she smiles.

“What was the box for?” Bellamy wonders, all mellow and only mildly interested. Once her phone is shut off, she can’t see his back anymore and can't tell if he’s still faced towards the wall or not. Her lips go stiff.

“What do you care? That’s uncharacteristically nosy.”

“I’m curious what kind of boyfriend gets his girl a present wrapped in newspaper, that’s all.”

Instead of commenting, Clarke’s laughter resounds over the walls and she has to cover her mouth not to wake the entire building. She hears Bellamy shift on his bed.

“I’m curious,” Clarke snorts, “What did Wells say to you when he asked for me today? How did he compel you into helping him search for me?”

“Forget I asked,” Bellamy replies curtly, turning again.

Okay.

Not the reactions she expected.

Clarke doesn’t like the trickling discomfort that washes over her at the sound of him clearly facing away again. She swallows thickly.

“Wells isn’t my boyfriend,” she states, staring at the black of the ceiling, “He’s my childhood friend. We’ve known each other forever.”

“Like Finn?”

It takes a moment for her brain to process not only that Bellamy remembered Finn’s name but anything about that at all. That he even mentioned it is baffling.

“Um, yeah,” she blurts slowly, “Except Wells has always been more like my brother. Literally, the two of us were constantly attached at the hip, pretty inseparable.”

“So, what happened? Why isn’t he here with you?”

She wonders why he’s asking all these questions in the first place. Why Bellamy cares at all about Wells or Finn or anything involving her old life. It’s not like he asks how her day was when she walks into the room during the week. It’s not like they talk about this stuff on the regular. It doesn’t make sense.

“After high school graduation, Wells went with his dad overseas. They travel to different countries and take pictures of wildlife, studying plants and stuff like that. They’ve always had a lot of money so Wells didn’t exactly need college. He wanted to be with his dad, you know?”

“Must be nice not working for anything.”

Something in his tone sets Clarke off. She sits up and glares at him, now that her eyes have adjusted to the moonlight filtering in through the dusty window. Bellamy is on his back but his arm is draped over his stomach and his head is turned away from her so all she can see is the mess of curls on his head.

“What the hell does that mean, Bellamy? You don’t know anything about Wells.”

“Exactly what it sounds like,” he answers gruffly, “You said he has money and I’m guessing it’s papa Wells’ money. Meaning he never has to work. Am I wrong?”

Biting her lip, Clarke hops off the bed and can’t help the anger boiling inside her.

“Screw you.”

Bellamy must sense the atmosphere shift because he sits up and is staring back at her, elbow propped up on his knee.

“I didn’t mean to offend your little friend, princess. Some of us just don’t have the luxury to take cute pictures of flowers and call it a day.”

“Oh, yeah, you’re life is so hard here,” she snaps. “Getting an education, hot meals, a warm bed - must be tough.”

“Now who doesn’t know anything,” Bellamy retorts, also standing. The now apparent height difference doesn’t bother Clarke at all.

“Wells gave me a necklace with a picture of my dad in it,” Clarke shoots, stepping towards him, “My dad who died in a car crash on my birthday. So - _no_ \- he isn’t some pompous asshole who gets fed from a silver spoon. He’s kind and doesn’t look down on people. More than I can say about you.”

In a flurry she storms out of the room and slams the door, not glancing over her shoulder once.

 

This was not a good idea.

Clarke really should have checked her emotions before leaving the dorm.

Because now she’s outside, in the windy night air, with hardly a thing keeping her from freezing. Plus, she's barefoot. It's hell. Errr - if hell froze over.

She ended up wandering to the currently deserted baseball lot on campus and sat down on the icy bleachers, because what else was there to do at whatever-the-fuck-o’clock? Her toes prickled from the cold but she ignored it. At least nobody was around to laugh at the way she was dressed.

It was pretty stupid. The fight.

Bellamy was free to think whatever he wanted. Even if it wasn't right. But it would have helped if she hadn’t been so defensive about the whole thing. Really, they could have avoided that blow up.

She didn’t know why she yelled at him like that. Bellamy says and does a lot to make her upset, and this time it wasn’t even intentional. And he probably didn’t deserve to get snapped at either. Man, she wishes she could be in her bed right now.

 

“Who’s winning the game?”

 

She jumps a bit at the sound of Bellamy’s smooth voice carrying over the bleachers from below. He steps up and over the bleachers on his way to her. His brown eyes are soft when they meet with hers as he walks closer and closer.

“Looks like a tie,” she plays along, naturally retaining face, unable to look away from him. She wants to ask how he found her or why he was here or apologize or maybe not apologize - there had to be _something_ to drown out this unbearable tension.

Except, in the span of time Bellamy takes to make his way to her, and in the seconds that he sits by her side on the bleacher, the tension is completely gone. Like it was never there.

“I’m betting on whatever team you’re not,” he jokes, folding his arms over his knees, slouching, eyes still on her.

“Then expect to lose your money,” she answers, finally breaking eye contact to look out at the desolate field. She can picture the imaginary game going on in front of them, cheering from the stands, popcorn and hot dog scents in the air. She's been to a lot of games as a kid, even before she started playing softball.

Bellamy reveals a pair of shoes, her sneakers, that were hard to see in his hand before. He plops them by her bare feet calmly.

“Money isn’t always the most important,” he breathes out, sounding unsure but still managing to say it, “And uh - I can’t believe I’m saying this but neither is pride. I was wrong.”

“No,” Clarke counters, tucking her feet deep within the sneakers he brought, “No, I shouldn’t have gotten angry for no reason.”

“You had a reason.”

“Did I? I mean, it’s not like you were badmouthing Wells, you were just - you were expressing how you felt. I know you have your reasons for saying what you did. I was in the wrong for getting hostile.”

Bellamy is quiet and then he stretches his legs out.

“I don’t think you were wrong.”

She has no idea how to respond because Bellamy sounds open and honest. Like he’s being more serious than he ever has before. He glances up into the sky, leaning back on his palms.

“Because he’s your family, right?”

Clarke gazes at him in awe. She absentmindedly touches the locket over her breast and her lip quivers.

“Yeah.”

“You’re just protective, I get it. Trust me,” he snorts - reverting back to the Bellamy she’s used to, “I can’t count how many guys I’ve clocked for looking at my sister the wrong way.”

That makes her crack a smile. Maybe they weren’t so different after all. Maybe it wasn’t so hard to talk to him about stuff. Stuff like her dad and Wells and everything she bottles up.

When he catches her eye again, she can read that he might want to say something else. But he doesn’t. He avoids eye contact again, regret pooling over his features.

Clarke’s arms shiver and it’s a reminder that they’re at an empty baseball field in the dead of night. Which is weird.

“Should we head back or do you prefer frostbite?” Bellamy smirks, jerking his coat off and tossing it over her legs. “And don’t tell me you’re one of those girls who won’t take my jacket because you _feel bad_.”

“Trust me,” Clarke rolls her eyes, tugging the jacket on immediately, “You’ll have to rip this off my dead body if you want this back right now.”

Bellamy is about to comment but his phone lights up and he unlocks the screen. Any teasing or fun is drained from his face as he taps on the screen.

“Everything okay?” Clarke wonders, zipping his coat over her torso, glad for the chilly air to be somewhat off her skin.

“Speak of the devil,” Bellamy sighs, shoving the phone back into his jeans and hopping up. “After I drop you off, I gotta pick up my sister.”

“Is she okay?”

“As okay as Octavia drunk off her ass can be. That was her boyfriend texting me to take her home. He’s kinda drunk too so he can’t drive. My car is parked close by but I can walk you back to the room considering -”

“I’ll go with you,” Clarke suggests, following him down the bleachers. Suddenly the idea of waiting alone in the room, unable to sleep, is awful. As if he can read her thoughts, he stops at the bottom of the stairs and crosses his arms, eyes scanning her legs.

“Why? Sure you want to ride without pants?”

“I’m fine,” She protests, moving past him. “And don’t act like you didn’t mean for that to come out dirty.”

He throws her one last look and gives.

“Whatever you say.”

 

Bellamy’s car is old school. One of those classic models that only guys who know how to actually fix it would buy. The heat is barely seeping out but she snuggles up into Bellamy’s jacket and doesn’t mind so much.

She half expects him to blast rock or rap, he has to be into one of those, from the radio but he doesn’t turn it on so they drive in silence. Now that she’s hunched up in the seat of his car, listening to the engine buzz and the whooshes of other cars every few minutes, she’s suddenly sleepier than she thought.

“How old did you turn today?” Bellamy asks out of the blue, sliding his hand down the steering wheel casually at a red light. Clarke leans against the window, pressing her forehead on the glass with a yawn.

“Nineteen.”

“Still illegal then.”

“How old are you?” She asks, not even realizing they might not be the same age before now. He hits the gas as the light turns green and shrugs.

“Twenty two.”

“Wait, _what_? Seriously? Aren’t you a freshman too?”

“So? I didn’t jump on college straight after high school. Cut me some slack.”

When he turns the next curve, Clarke eases off the window and sees her own reflection, all of a sudden feeling bad inside. About her inflection and their earlier fight and it being her birthday and a lot of things.

“I didn’t mean it like that - “

“Chill,” Bellamy shrugs, “You’re working yourself up over nothing again.”

“I don’t do that.”

“Yeah, you do.”

“No, I - Forget it.”

He laughs and that eases her nerves some. She rips her eyes away from the window and watches him instead. He’s focused on the road and tapping the wheel, lips forming an ‘o’ as if he might whistle but doesn’t.

“What made you go to college then? Why now?”

“Why does anyone go?” Bellamy challenges, making another sharp turn, gripping the wheel harder,  “It’s pretty standard for decent money. I couldn’t find much work in the last couple of years and my mom struggles so I thought what the hell - what can I lose? Octavia got in and - hey, at least I won’t lose her if I go with her, right?”

Clarke is speechless for a long time after that. She wants to console him or ask him to keep talking. But her tongue is caged behind her teeth.

 

_Please, keep talking._

_Tell me everything._

_Never stop._

 

It’s so comforting to hear Bellamy’s calming voice in the darkness of the night, in his classic car, on the empty road. She wouldn't mind listening until her eyes couldn’t stay open. She would listen as long as he would let her.

 

She is so royally screwed.

 

“What are you studying, Bellamy? I don’t remember if you ever said.”

She’s glad that she can still ask him anything with the way that she drooping back in the seat, on the verge of passing out any second.

“I don’t know yet.”

“You don’t know? You mean you don’t have a major in mind?”

“Nope.”

“Hmm.”

“Don’t sound too disappointed.”

“I’m thinking,” Clarke defends, yawning softly, resting her hands in her lap, “What do you like? What do you want to be when you grow up?”

“You sound like my third grade teacher. And you look like you’re half dead. I knew I should have left you on campus.”

“I said I’m fine,” she ignores, drawn in by the scent on Bellamy’s jacket. Firewood and a faint cologne that’s wearing off.

“Stay in the car,” he orders, hopping out. She hadn’t even realized they stopped.

She also isn’t exactly sure how long he takes to come back because she blacks out as soon as he shuts the engine off.

 

Clarke is woken up by a female voice and it takes her a full minute to register that she’s still in Bellamy’s car. Okay, is that good? She can hear talking outside the car, muffled arguing from the sound of it.

“She’s half naked and wearing your jacket,” the female voice splutters out, obviously meaning Clarke. The girl’s words are slurred together. Must be Octavia.

“Oh, please, don’t act like you actually give a shit. Besides, you can’t hook up with every guy on the block and then get all pissy because there’s a girl in my car, Gina.”

“I’m not pissy.”

“You’re drunk and when you’re drunk you get pissy.”

“Both of you shut the hell up,” another female voice butts in, stern and angry. The backseat car door opens and someone slips inside behind Clarke. The person slams the door shut and lays down in the back, draping their legs lazily on the door, tapping their boots in annoyance.

“Those two don’t ever stop fighting,” the girl moans, “For the love of some kind of freaking deity, make them stop.”

Clarke sits up and turns around. Pretty dark hair and eyes, a leather jacket like Bellamy’s, tan skin - yeah, definitely the sister. Clarke remembers her. She peers out the window and Bellamy is with another girl not too far from the car, looking absolutely done with their conversation.

“Give me a call when you’re not all boozed up,” Bellamy  taunts, circling the car to the driver’s side. The girl runs a hand through her wavy hair and scrunches her shoulders up, watching him leave with a pout.

"I'm sorry, Bellamy."

"Tell Murphy to drive you home or I'll kick his ass later."

She shrugs hopelessly again and Bellamy pulls out the driveway of whoever’s house or party they’re at.

The drive is only quiet for about two minutes until Octavia laughs suddenly.

“Jesus, Bell. Isn’t this your roommate?”

“Don’t start, O. You’re lucky I drove out here. It's almost two in the morning.”

“Did you miss nap time? You're cranky," she chuckles and then looks to Clarke, folding her hands over her stomach the way Bellamy does when laying down. "Are you guys screwing?”

Clarke wonders if she should humor this half drunk girl - although she’s pretty coherent so maybe she’s not really that drunk.

“Give it a rest,” Bellamy warns, “It’s not like that.”

“I believe you, big brother, calm down.”

“I’m Clarke. We met before. Kind of,” Clarke attempts, hoping to alleviate the situation somewhat. It feels as though it only got worse because Octavia looks as if that sentence in itself just made her hate Clarke’s very existence. Okay, first impressions aren’t her strong point.

“You don’t seem that intoxicated to me, O. I’m guessing you got into it with Lincoln? That’s why he asked me to pick you up.”

“If I did, at least the whole world doesn’t know about it,” she alludes bluntly. Bellamy actually smirks.

“Maybe if you would have warned me that Gina was here, I wouldn’t have brought Clarke.”

“Okay, I know you guys aren’t dating exactly but - don’t you get tired of her bitching about every girl you talk to?”

“In her defense, Clarke _is_ half naked _and_ snuggled up in my jacket - "

"I'm not _snuggled up_ in it, you -"

"What would you have done if Lincoln had a girl in his car like that, dear sister?"

“Rip his balls off.”

The siblings laugh and Clarke feels so awkward it hurts. She feels like she’s in Octavia’s seat or something. Or maybe she’s invading their space or bonding time or - who knows. It doesn’t feel like she belongs here anymore.

“Not to nark or anything,” Octavia goes on, “But Gina put her panties in a boy’s pocket at the party. You can't blame me for being on your side with this one.”

“Are you saying you’re not _always_ on my side?” Bellamy teases, smiling when Octavia leans up and wraps an arm around his neck so she can playfully choke him.

“Like I would give a crap about you, Bell.”

“Glad we’re on the same page.”

Clarke thought she had seen Bellamy happy before. She thought she had seen his smile at it’s best. But no, _this_ is the best.

This kind of laughter comes from deep within Bellamy’s chest. This time, his smile reaches all the way to his eyes and there are permanent crinkles there - as if to say they’ve always been there but only show when Octavia is around.

That kind of bond makes her understand what Bellamy meant earlier in the baseball lot.

 

_Because he’s your family, right?_

_You’re just protective, I get it._

 

After dropping Octavia off at her own dorm, Bellamy and Clarke go back to theirs. Neither of them bother checking the clock, they’re probably getting a few hours of sleep at most.

Before Clarke can drift to sleep, Bellamy pipes up from the other side, sounding exhausted himself.

 

“Happy birthday, princess.”

 

She swallows and for a fleeting moment, memories of her dad blur her shut eyes.

His gentle voice filling the room before he cut her lamp off. His caring hands tucking her into bed. His scent and smile and everything she could remember the night of the accident. The last time she saw him.

 

_Daddy’s going out of town for the weekend but I’ll be back before you know it. Be a good girl while I’m gone._

 

_When are you coming back, daddy?_

 

_Soon. I promise. Take care of mommy for me, okay?_

 

_Okay. Bye bye, daddy. I’ll miss you._

 

_I’ll miss you too but I won’t be gone long so get some sleep, alright?_

_Sweet dreams and happy birthday, princess._

 

She didn’t even dwell on it until now that maybe that’s why she hated that nickname so much at first. Why she wanted Bellamy to stop calling her that.

Hearing him whisper it now though - she’s overwhelmed with a familiar happiness she hasn’t felt in so long.

Tears cascade from her eyes and soak the pillow.

 

_I miss you. I miss you. I miss you. I miss you._

_Come back. Don’t go._

_I’ll be good._

_I promise._

_I miss you._

 

 

She falls asleep clutching the necklace over her shirt, whispering sadly into the blanket before she does, to her dad and Wells and her mother and to Bellamy -

 

  
  
_Thank you._


	5. Don't Waste Tears On Me

It’s the third time this morning that Clarke jolts from her restless attempt to doze back off. She would be peacefully dead to the world if it weren’t for Bellamy’s alarm. Every time the damn thing buzzed out, Bellamy would make a half ass attempt to turn it off but end up pressing snooze instead.

Well, now that she’s wide awake, she notices that is what's happening. Bellamy _does_ hit the alarm again and turns over silently. Clarke feels her temple throb.

“Are you actually going to go back to sleep or go to class? Pick one.”

“Mhmm.”

“ _Bellamy_.”

“Chill, mom,” he yawns groggily, untangling himself from the bed sheets. Slightly entertained, Clarke watches the struggle he has just to get out of his own covers and can’t help but laugh at the unexpected tumble he makes.

“Shit! I missed my first class.”

“Didn’t think you cared about that stuff,” Clarke mutters, already immersing herself back beneath the covers. Sleep was calling and her morning classes were canceled today. She finished all her classwork the other night too so there was nothing urgent to get up for.

“You’re seriously annoying when you put people into your little stereotypes,” Bellamy grumbles, jerking dark jeans on that were lying on the floor by the bed. Clarke is about to respond _you’re one to talk_ but she’s too tired to bother. He hurriedly grabs a tooth brush and goes to their bathroom, not even bothering to shut the door as he turns the sink full blast.

“Come on, you’re wasting water,” Clarke moans, irked by the fact he has the sink running while brushing. It’s been a pet peeve forever.

Bellamy either doesn’t hear or chooses not to answer because he continues for another solid minute until she hears him spit and turn it off. Weirdly enough, Clarke almost drifts back off to the background noise of him rummaging through the bathroom doing whatever. It’s not such a bad sound, his _presence_. In fact, that peaceful dead to the world thing isn’t so far away now. . . That is until she hears the sound of a zipper. Her cheeks go crimson at the realization of what’s about to happen.

“Close the door!”

It's too late.

The unmistakable sound of piss hitting toilet bowl fills the silence. She’s speechless.

“Oops,” Bellamy snorts out, unfazed, “Don’t worry, your innocent eyes are safe in there.”

“That’s not the point! It’s disgusting!”

The toilet flushes and the sink runs again and then Bellamy comes in the room, face ten times brighter than a couple minutes ago.

“You get embarrassed over the smallest things. It’s easy to mess with you.”

“Says the guy who doesn’t like when I undress in the same room as him,” Clarke retorts, a little cranky that the last hour and a half has been wasted. Bellamy kicks something beneath his bed and grabs his keys off the top of the fridge before responding.

“Hey, I grew up in a house full of women. I respect privacy.”

“Clearly not. You just took a whiz a few feet from me with the door wide open.”

He laughs at that and doesn’t even argue.

“I’m gonna get revenge for this, you’re a nightmare,” Clarke promises lightly, wishing she could magically sink into her pillow and feel sleepy again but it won’t happen.

“For what, princess? It’s not like I did it on purpose.”

“True, but your childishness keeps costing me sleep.”

“Sounds like a personal problem,” he muses, lacing his shoes on.

“My personal problem is your inconsideration,” Clarke argues dully and rolls out of bed with a long yawn. She then sits on the floor and starts stretching her limbs out, loosening up her joints and muscles.

“What are you doing?” Bellamy asks, tying the second shoe now.

“Stretching. It’s how I start my day.”

“Softball habit?” he quirks, satisfied by the surprise on Clarke’s face. He stands up and crosses his arms. “You always look so shocked when I remember something you told me. You seriously have no faith in me.”

“Hey, I’m not shocked, just impressed,” she states, rolling her neck to the side, “Most people don’t pay much attention to remember details like that.”

“Am I still half asleep or was that a compliment?”

“Just an opinion.”

“In other words - a _compliment_.”

“Aren’t you going to be late for another class? You better hurry up,” Clarke grunts, standing up and stretching her arm over her chest. “Since you wanted to sleep in so bad.”

“Oh, but I’m the type who doesn’t mind missing class, remember? I skip all the time,” Bellamy reminds, already opening the door to the hallway. Clarke feels a little sting because she did feel bad about that now. Bellamy almost always had super late shifts at work and still managed to get up for early classes regardless. In fact, before today, she couldn’t remember a single time he woke up late. No wonder he didn’t know that she stretched in the morning.

“Sorry,” she swallows. “I would sleep for a million hours a day if I could so I respect that you can get up on empty fumes. You deserve a gold star.”

“Is that another compliment?” Bellamy questions, stepping back into the hallway. “I might get the wrong idea and think we’re actually friends if this keeps up, Clarke.”

“Don’t worry, hell hasn’t frozen over yet.”

 

 

 

The sun is blinding when Clarke looks up into the sky. The vast blue pools out and almost hurts to look at. She does her best not to move from her position on the panther statue, the university mascot. The stone is hot on her bare legs but she endures.

 

_Click._

 

“Great, thanks,” Raven comments, lowering the Polaroid from her face. “Have you modeled before? You’re pretty so I wouldn't be surprised.”

“Oh, no, I’m not - “ Clarke stops herself because she knows Raven hates when people don’t accept compliments and laughs, “I would hate modeling. Too much standing around.”

“Oh, right. Miss nurse of America wants to save lives. Modeling would be too easy.”

“Hey, you’re an engineer - a damn good one too. One day you’ll be working for NASA so I’m pretty sure we’re in the same boat on that one.”

“Oh? I’m a damn good one, am I? I had no idea.”

“Humble as ever.”

They both snicker and Raven takes one last snapshot before Clarke hops off the statue. Raven looks down at her camera and nods in approval.

“Thanks for letting me take all these pictures of you. I can’t stand this photo crap but I needed an extra class to fill credits so I thought it would be easy. Turns out it’s time consuming,” she grumbles, stuffing the expensive looking camera into her backpack.

Clarke squints through the sunlight and wonders how someone like Raven could think she was pretty. Raven is that unique kind of beauty that actually stands out. She’s like a Middlemist Camellia, one of the rarest flowers in the world - according to Wells. Meanwhile, Clarke is plain pretty, like any other college girl. Just a sunflower maybe - yeah, something common like that.

Okay, no, she shouldn't compare them. 

She knows she should appreciate her own skin - which she does - but it's hard not to notice how beautiful everyone around her can be. Maybe she'll ask Raven if she can draw her someday.

“You look like you’re overthinking again,” Raven states, coming up to her, tucking her hands in her cargo pants. “You do that a lot - space out.”

“There’s a lot to think about,” Clarke shrugs, poking at one of the wildflowers by her boot. Raven shakes her head but her lips tug up.

“Smartass.”

The girls walk back to the center of campus and chat idly over lunch for a while. Clarke likes it a lot. Even though they’ve only known each other a few weeks, it feels as if they’ve known each other longer. It’s nice.

“Hey, there’s this bonfire thing later tonight,” Raven pipes up in the middle of chewing, “My friends will be there. Wanna be my date?”

“I’d be honored,” Clarke responds without hesitation. 

“Cool. I’ll text you the details when I get out of class. See you, Griffin.”

It isn’t until after Raven leaves that it hits Clarke she’s been invited to a party. She hasn’t been to one of those in almost a year. Excited, she heads back to the dorm, practically racing up the hallway to get ready.

She doesn’t check if the door is open or not, Bellamy is never back at this hour. At the same time she puts the key in the lock, the door flies open.

Rather than Bellamy, there’s that guy from the other day. What was his name? Morrow? Murrey?

“Oh, great,” he says, looking over his shoulder, “It’s her.”

She hears rustling and her prior happiness drains and is replaced with anger as this guy continues to stand in her way.

“Move,” Clarke orders, hardening her gaze to show she means it. He raises his head as if to look down his nose at her even further, scrutinizing.

“Murphy, move,” Bellamy’s voice resounds and then Bellamy is there. One look at him and Clarke realizes they are both stoned. That’s perfect.

“The RA is down the hall and you’re doing cannabis in here?” Clarke scoffs. Murphy rolls his eyes.

“Yeah, why don’t you yell it at the top of your lungs?”

“She won’t tell,” Bellamy discloses, pulling Clarke into the room so he can shut the door. “Besides, princess knows weed is just another form of medication, right?”

“You’re hilarious,” Clarke glares, moving passed them to her desk. She searches through the top drawer and finds the makeup pouch hidden away in the back. Murphy turns the music on Bellamy's stereo back up and retrieves the stash from Bellamy's closet. Clarke goes to the bathroom because she can't stand the smoky haze.

As she paints her face, the shade of pink on her lips reminds her of Finn. It makes her stomach curl. In general, she doesn’t wear much makeup and remembers how Finn used to say she was cute with or without it.

When she returns to the room, Murphy is in Bellamy’s chair, puffing a joint and he doesn’t appear uncomfortable at all by her presence. Clarke does her best to neglect the insufferable scent of weed even though it makes her skin itch. It’s gross.

“Who are you getting dolled up for?” Bellamy breaks conversation with Murphy to ask. He doesn’t take the offered smoke and is staring at Clarke from his bed.

“You know, women don’t have to wear makeup for other people. We wear it for ourselves to feel good,” Clarke educates mildly.

“Yeah, dick, she’s wearing it for herself,” Murphy responds and Clarke honestly can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic or not.

“I meant - where are you going? You don’t do that - _makeup_ and all that.”

“Now who’s putting people into stereotypes?” Clarke hums, setting her makeup bag inside the drawer gingerly. She twirls her fingers into her hair so she can braid some of it back. Murphy probably doesn’t get the context but he sort of snickers.

“Hey, if you end up missing and I don’t know where you are, that’s gonna suck for me,” Bellamy gruffs out, snatching the joint from Murphy now. He smokes it and lays on his back, releasing the hot trail of smoke to the ceiling.

“Aw, I’m sure you’ll be heartbroken,” Clarke brushes off, tying the second braid effortlessly. Murphy is watching Clarke now in what could be called interest if she didn’t get the vibe this guy didn’t give a shit about anything.

When she finishes her hair, she shuffles through her closet for something to wear. Half of it is stuff she hardly wears now but hasn't had the chance to throw out. When possible, she needs to go shopping. She pulls out a fluorescent orange top and Murphy makes a stifled noise.  

“Please tell me you’re not going to wear that. Unless you plan on directing traffic.”

Her lips tighten but she sees the point and shoves it back in the closet. When she takes out a dark green button up, Murphy makes another sound.

“Do you bother looking at clothes before you buy them? Here, let me look.”

He crosses the room and gets in Clarke’s space so she moves aside unwillingly. As rude as it is, Clarke's kind of entertained.

“Jesus, half of your closet looks like it’s marketed by Crayola.”

“You’re an ass,” Clarke replies impatiently. She peaks at Bellamy to see if he has anything to say about his friend’s behavior but he's still blankly watching the ceiling, as if any second it’s going to do something other than be a ceiling.

“Ah, now what do we have here.”

Clarke blinks at the navy dress Murphy has materialized from her closet. It’s the dress she wore for prom.

“Nice,” Bellamy comments from his side, “That color suits you more than schoolbus yellow.”

“It’s a mystery why you two are dateless on a Friday night,” Clarke snaps, grabbing the dress from Murphy, disappearing into the bathroom.

Even though it’s been a year, it still fits her the same, hugging all her curves the same way. She remembers buying it before the fallout with Finn. When he cheated, she would have skipped out on prom but Wells - her knight in shining armor - asked her and they had a great time. Life would have been so much easier if she could have fallen in love with him instead.

Then again, he's halfway across the world now.

“Hey!” Murphy yells, “What’s the hold up?”

“You’re demanding, you know that?” Clarke scowls as she emerges from the restroom. Thinking about it, the dress is too formal for the bonfire so she decides against it. “Happy? I’m taking it off now.”

Bellamy sits up.

“Why? The guy’s gonna drool all over you if you wear that.”

“You’re such an asshole.”

“If you’re uncomfortable then change. Or don't. Do whatever the fuck you want,” Murphy blurts, swiveling in circles in Bellamy’s chair.

“I will, thanks Murphy,” she agrees, pulling a pair of white shorts and a floral blouse off the racks. After changing, she comes back out and Bellamy is dragging trash from under his bed, tossing it in piles.

“He started spring cleaning for some fucking reason,” Murphy shrugs.

“Shut up,” Bellamy growls, dumping a wad of gum wrappers in the trash bin by his knee.

Clarke sits at her desk for lack of better to do until Raven texts and watches.

Bellamy’s eyebrow is creased and he won’t look at anything but the floor as he cleans. She wonders what’s going on in that head of his.

“Do you need help?” she asks even though she wants to know what in God’s name weed must contain that can get him to clean.

“Nope.”

“Emori said to get our asses over there and don’t forget the smokes,” Murphy quotes, eyes on the phone in his hand. “Lincoln’s got booze and Raven’s bringing lighter fuel.”

“Raven?” Clarke asks slowly, “You mean, you guys are going to the bonfire too?”

Murphy and Bellamy both turn their heads to her and then to each other.

“Raven invited me,” Clarke swallows, awkward tension building with each syllable, “She’s picking me up when she gets out of class.”

“You got cute for _Raven_?” Bellamy cuts in, almost laughing as he shoves some laundry into the mesh bag next to the door. “I thought you were actually going on a date.”

“Hey, if it’s Raven, it probably is,” Murphy mutters absent mindedly. "And it's my house so I guess I might as well show up to this stupid thing."

Clarke ‘s phone vibrates on the bed and she checks it in an instant.

 

_Just got out. Coming to get you so be ready!!_

 

Clarke taps a quick reply that she already is while Murphy mutters something about a snack and leaves. A silence drapes over the room in his absence and Clarke fumbles with her phone, staring at Bellamy's cleaning crusade. Unable to hold it in anymore, she cracks.

“So, instead of the munchies, you get the urge to clean?”

“I guess you’re a bad influence on me.”

She has a lot of smart replies to that one but chooses to leave it alone and just watch. It’s not everyday she gets to see him tidy up. Although, that guilt from earlier resurfaces because maybe he hates cleaning and does it just to appease her. Looking around the room, Bellamy’s side really isn’t as messy as it was when she first arrived. Isn't that unfair?

“You know, it doesn't bother me as much now,” she admits, crossing her legs on the bed, “You don’t have to keep it sparkling clean for my sake.”

Bellamy bags up the leftover trash and leans against the desk, meeting her gaze.

“You’re full of generous words today. I’m getting suspicious. Who are you and where's my irritating roommate?”

“Keeping my environment clean keeps my head clean,” Clarke explains quietly, “But this morning when you were getting ready, I realized all the noise didn’t bother me much anymore. Maybe your untidiness isn't so bad either."

She hovers her gaze to the creases on his bed sheets and the knocked over bottle on his night stand and the posters on the wall that are starting to peel back and then back to him.

"It means you’re still here.“

It's weird to say to him of all people. Being deep and serious isn’t really what they do. She waits for Bellamy to make a joke out of it or to ignore her completely. His expressions remains unreadable and he pushes himself off the desk, eyes lowering.

“Did you expect me to leave or something?”

The tone isn't like him at all. It isn’t playful or sarcastic. Her brain searches for an answer.

 

_Don't they all?_

 

“Wow, you potheads couldn’t have waited until the party.”

Raven enters the room with Murphy a footstep behind, chips in hand. “And you don’t know how to close the door. Smooth. Sorry you know these two Einsteins, Clarke.”

“Nothing wrong with sampling the merchandise,” Murphy says apathetically, slinging a bag off the floor onto his shoulder.

“If you smoke it then you won't be able to sell it, _John_.”

“It’s _my_ goods anyways. Murphy’s just freeloading,” Bellamy mentions, snagging the joint and popping it in the trash bag before tying it up. Murphy's eye twitches.

“Hey, this is a business transaction.”

“Fair enough,” Bellamy nods, stepping into the hallway. “Let’s go before Gina loses her shit.”

Raven greets Clarke and they chat all the way to the parking lot.

“We’re taking my car, hot shot,” Raven intervenes the second Bellamy makes way in the opposite direction. His shoulders slump but he complies. Clarke can’t blame him.

Raven parks in front of a fancy house - Murphy said it was his earlier - and the group hops out and walks up the driveway. The house itself is eerily dark but Raven circles it to the backyard and Clarke understands why. There are crystal lights strung up along the trees and Solar lamps dotting the ground. What’s really attention grabbing is the giant pit of firewood in the center of the people mingling.

As soon as they arrive, Octavia comes up to them full force, red solo cup at her lips, finger pointed at Raven.

“You are late. This fire isn’t going to start itself. “

“You guys can’t do anything without me,” she sighs, clearing the path to the fire pit. Octavia fixes her gaze on Clarke next and drops the cup from her mouth.

“Oh, I can’t wait for Gina to get here. “

“That’s because you like to see me suffer,” Bellamy drawls, grabbing her and rubbing her head aggressively.

“Ow, Bell - “

Clarke’s legs start to bounce on their own at the beat of the electronic music coming out of the outdoor stereo system. She’s always loved dancing. Even as a child. For a moment, she forgets about everything on her mind and can’t stop herself from jogging to the group of college students across the lawn. She thinks she hears her name from behind but can’t bother to care because the closer to the music she is, the faster her heart pumps and the harder her smile hurts.

The rush of energy spikes when she joins the swarm of teen and she doesn’t even mind when a couple girls - who are probably a bit drunk - dance with her.

If only she could feel this way all the time. Let loose every now and then.

A few songs later and Clarke’s worked up enough of a sweat to find something to drink. She spots the set up tables nearby and catches her breath on the way to it. The icy water of the soda container feels nice on her hands when she plucks a sprite out of the bath.

Clarke drinks her soda and continues to bop her head. The scene in front of her would make an amazing drawing. The sun falling behind the woods, draping the world in a powder orange and yellow. . . It’s gorgeous. She really wishes she had her sketchpad right now.

Among the crowd of dancers, she zones in on Murphy, almost choking with laughter. While his dancing isn’t awful, his expression could use some work. There’s a girl with him who isn’t dancing much either, more like shuffling. Her hair is silky and Clarke wonders if that's _Emori_. Murphy reaches out to brush the hair from her face which is both cute and hard to watch.

Clarke glances away from that situation because Wells always told her that people watching is a creepy habit. It doesn't stop her though. She soon finds her eyes on another pair that stand out.

It’s Bellamy and Gina. They’re not dancing or anything, they’re just talking to each other on the outer circle of what might as well be a dance floor. The two look like they’re having a great conversation because Gina is howling with laughter and Bellamy is trying to explain something with his hands but keeps laughing too from the looks of it.

It’s extremely adorable.

Based on the impression she got from the couple the other night, she expected worse. In reality, they looked really good together. They would have probably stuck out in high school, would've been the kids voted as ‘best couple’ in the yearbook.

“Try no to stare too hard,” Raven says to Clarke, in the midst of grabbing a soda can. “Please tell me you don't have the hots for that jerk?”

“Don’t even joke about that,” Clarke comes back, throwing her empty can in the trash. Raven laughs and shakes her head.

“Don’t feel too bad, everybody gets a crush on Bellamy at some point. He’s good looking and people are shallow. It’s all brain and evolution shit taking over.”

“He’s not bad looking but looks aren’t everything,” Clarke defends, not letting her voice go too loud. The music might drown it out but she’s always been paranoid of eavesdroppers.

“Oh, please, don’t lie to yourself,” Raven splutters, “There’s no shame in wanting some sex with no strings attached.”

“Well, I don’t, so can we stop joking now,” Clarke mumbles seriously. Raven catches on that she’s entered dangerous territory and holds her hands up in apology.

“Sorry, I talk too much sometimes. Ready to dance again? You were killing it earlier.”

“Yeah, let’s do it,” Clarke jumps up, following Raven out to the dance floor for another round.

Staying in step with Raven is even better than dancing alone. Clarke has missed this so much. Having someone by her side. Going out and feeling like herself without all the worry attached. She likes the wild look in Raven’s eyes that say  _I’m up for anything if you are_. She could do this for hours.

Octavia appears from the crowd and joins in naturally, like they're already best friends. It's shocking because Clarke got the impression this girl didn't like her. Maybe she was wrong. Or maybe Octavia isn't sober enough to care.

They dance for at least half an hour and then Octavia leaves to meet someone named  _Lincoln_. Raven explains that's her boyfriend of three years. 

"They must be pretty happy together," Clarke says, "Three years is a lot for this young."

"You sound old," Raven snorts, "But you're right. They're pretty inseparable. They fight a lot but they've never broken up. Not even one time."

"That's awesome."

 

“Lincoln, stop!”

 

Clarke’s footsteps slow and so do Raven’s. Most people don't pay much attention but there's a space in the crowd where people have parted and Clarke can see Octavia pulling a guy about twice her size by the bicep. There’s another guy on the ground with a sleeve soaked in blood held up to his nose and mouth. 

“He’s not worth it, Lincoln,” Octavia hisses, “Besides, he knows to back off now, right?"

The guy on the ground spits blood into the grass and stands, shoving people aside so he can leave.

"I was just going to threaten him not to go near you again. You're the one who punched him," Lincoln says in disbelief. The crowd begins to come together again and Lincoln is strung along by Octavia until the duo vanish from sight.

“Man, those two can’t go to a single party without getting into trouble,” Raven observes. She doesn’t seem to think much of it however and picks back up her dancing. “Sucks you had to see that, after just boasting about their relationship. Octavia’s reckless and Lincoln’s overprotective. Not a good combo.”

“That guy’s nose was bleeding. Maybe I should go check on him,” Clarke whispers, already drawn towards where the fight happened. Her limbs feel heavy all of a sudden as they push through the people to get there, to help, to save him, to do _something_ -

 

_Make it. Don’t be late. Help. Save him. He’s bleeding. Save him._

_Save -_

 

Raven jerks her back to reality by the arm.

“Are you crazy? If Octavia punched him, that kid probably deserved it.”

Clarke’s breath hitches and she remembers where she is. Raven cocks her head in anticipation. Clarke's voice comes out shakier than she means for it to.

“Nobody deserves that, Raven.”

“Look, Clarke, he probably has a bloody nose and a bruised ego,” Raven explains dully, “What are you going to do? Bandage it? And trust me, a lot of people could use a good kick in the ass.”

“Violence doesn’t help anyone,” Clarke disagrees gravely, mood drained now. She moves out of the crowd and rubs her heated arm anxiously.

“Fights happen all the time, why are you so bothered?” Raven asks, coming after her. “Don’t tell me blood makes you squeamish? You should be used to that in your field of study.”

“I don’t like violence, that’s all,” Clarke shrugs, “It never turns out good for anyone.”

“You better get used to it where you’re going,” Raven advises, looking her in the eyes, “There are crazy people in this world and they aren’t afraid of hurting people to get what they want. All you can do is learn to protect yourself and the people you care about. Don’t expect everyone to play nice guy because it suits you.”

There’s an uncomfortable silence between them considering the conversation is unfitting for the setting. Clarke doesn’t have anything to combat what Raven said so she stays silent. Raven sighs and pockets her hands, kicking out at Clarke’s shoe.

“Hey, let’s not get all philosophical. We were having fun.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Sorry that I freaked out,” Clarke nods, swallowing thickly, “I, um, shouldn’t have overreacted. The truth is that I - I had a bad experience last semester. That’s actually why I came here. I’ve been trying to forget about it and stuff like that triggers me.”

Raven lifts her eyebrows and opens her mouth to react but someone slaps their hands down on Clarke’s shoulders from behind.

“I’m borrowing the princess,” Bellamy remarks, “It’s not up for debate.”

“You're a dick,” Raven scowls, “And she’s right here. How about asking her like she’s a person?”

“What do you want?” Clarke deadpans because she’s still shaken up from earlier so he’s the last person she wants to see. She doesn't want to deal with whatever he's about to say or do right now.

“You’ll see,” Bellamy urges, tapping her shoulders with his fingers like it's a piano, “When have I ever let you down?”

“Is that rhetorical?” Clarke ponders, unable to deny the curiosity bubbling in her chest. Raven squints skeptically but waves the two off as soon as Clarke gives the okay.

Following behind Bellamy, Clarke wonders if he’s been drinking because he’s swaying slightly as he walks. The longer she follows, the more antsy she becomes. At some point they’re far enough from the party to where the music has somewhat faded into the sky.

“Should I be worried I’m about to end up in a ditch?” Clarke asks, only half kidding. Bellamy laughs, stepping over some tree roots that are twisting into each other like veins coursing through the Earth. It’s another picture Clarke wishes she could sketch.

“Murphy’s dad owns a shit ton of land,” Bellamy blurts out, flicking his knuckles over a tree trunk which scrapes his skin a bit but he doesn’t seem to care. “Actually, his dad is pretty much a billionaire. That guy doesn’t have a clue how good he has it.”

“You focus on money too much,” Clarke lectures, stopping at the same time he does. "I'm sure Murphy has a hard time just like the rest of us."

Bellamy looks back at her.

“I’m an envious bastard, that’s why.”

Not expecting that, Clarke laughs and this brings a smile to Bellamy’s face. It drops when he speaks again.

“When you’ve never had money, you can’t help it. There are so many rich pricks on this Earth with money they could spend over a hundred lifetimes and - what do they do? They get seven houses, ten yachts, and so much sparkly shit they could feed another country with the amount they spend on it.”

Clarke listens but says nothing so Bellamy goes on.

“I just want to give my mom somewhere decent to live so she doesn’t have to suck up to greasy men for rent,” he clarifies, sending a chill down Clarke’s spine, “and show my sister all the nice stuff she never got to experience.”

He doesn't add anything else and brushes his knuckles over the tree again. Clarke is about to tell him that she really admires that but he’s already off. Looks like he wants to leave it at that. They continue their hike until they have to slide down a muddy hill and Bellamy reaches a hand out to Clarke who simply rolls her eyes and goes on her own, having no trouble making it down the hill. Once at the bottom, she waits for him to come down and snorts.

“Okay, you were once an athlete. We get it.”

“Don’t be a sore loser, Bellamy.”

A minute later and Bellamy stops, stretching his arms out. About time. She was three seconds from asking how much farther they had to go. Clarke follows his gaze and inhales, taking in the sight. There’s a lake glittering in the sunset, rippling from the waterfall far ahead at it's edge. Now _this_ is something Clarke would not only draw but paint in hundreds of hues just to capture it’s beauty. She’s at a loss for words.

“We’ve been waiting for it to warm up so we can go swimming. It’s been cold since school started until lately,” Bellamy says, gauging Clarke’s reaction. "Raven will probably ask you to come whenever we decide to do it."

“Why’d you show me this?” Clarke asks, hating how tight her vocal chords have winded up. Bellamy rolls his eyes at the question and sits down, tossing a few rocks into the water.

“You looked kinda bummed out and I was bored. I don't know. You read into things too much.”

“Oh.Thanks then. I guess.”

“You’re so hard to please,” he exasperates, dropping his head, “Most girls love this kinda romantic shit.”

“Are you trying to be romantic? You have a girlfriend, Bellamy.”

Bellamy studies how quick her body language hardens and that rises some kind of panic in him. Clarke can see it in his eyes, that he must be remembering why that would bother her. He breathes out loudly as if letting out an unknown frustration.

“First off, Gina isn’t my girlfriend so even if I was coming onto you - which I'm not - she wouldn't give a shit. Hell, she'd probably pat me on the back. She’s in the process of fucking some guy as we speak.”

“Wait, what? How could - “

“Gina doesn’t like being caged up,” Bellamy shrugs, “We can screw other people if we want. It’s not a big thing. We’re still seeing each other but we’re not exclusive. It’s not as uncommon as you think. Don’t do your judgy thing.”

“I’m not always judging,” Clarke exhales sharply, sitting down, pulling her knees to her chest. Her anger dies down however when she catches a glimpse of his smile from the corner of her eye. “Okay, I. . . I do judge a bit.”

Bellamy grins and so does Clarke and then they’re quiet. She tries to think of something to say but nothing will come out. Why does that bother her so much? She wants to thank him for showing her this. He went out of his way. He cheered her up, whether it was intentional or not. Or maybe. . .

She drops her arms from her knees and blinks straight at Bellamy. He’s watching the waterfall blankly, smile faded.

“Are you okay with that?”

Bellamy doesn’t respond to her question at first until it dawns on him that she spoke at all. He turns his head and squints, confused. Clarke crosses her legs and does her best not to break the eye contact.

“Are you okay with Gina caring for someone else?”

He stares at her as if she said something he never thought he would hear. Something forbidden. The fraction of daylight left is captured in his perplexed gaze and Clarke thinks maybe _that_ is more beautiful than anything she’s seen tonight.

“If I’m not, I lose her,” he replies easily. Simple. Nothing else to say about it. Clarke's heart prickles in pain at the unexpected honesty.

“Bellamy - “

“Let's head back," he dodges, dismissing the conversation, "Gotta make sure my sister isn't going too hard on the liquor.”

“Bellamy,” Clarke tries again but he’s already crossing the path back into the woods. She hops up and goes behind him, which was a good decision because he stumbles over a branch back into her arms.

“Trying to make a move on me?” he teases but Clarke doesn’t find it funny. From this close up, she can smell the hint of alcohol and see the vulnerability in his features. It sucks.

“It’s okay to be hurt, Bellamy,” she murmurs, removing her hands from his sides, “You don’t have to put up a brave front all the time if something’s wrong.”

He pulls away from her, leaving a cold that wasn’t there before. Clarke sees the rift widen as Bellamy doesn’t make another sound for the entire trip back to the house.

What hurts even more is that when they get back - Gina engulfs Bellamy in a tight hug.

And Bellamy smiles like that's all he needs.

 

 

 

“I’m beat,” Bellamy yawns, immediately dropping his weight on his bed once they’re back in the dorm. Clarke shuts the door and changes into night clothes without even asking if he minds. He’s half asleep anyways and partially intoxicated.

She brushes her teeth and returns from the bathroom, sore but miraculously not very exhausted. Either way, she reaches out to turn the night light on her desk off so they can go to sleep. Bellamy’s voice stops her.

“Leave it on,” he mumbles, “It helps.”

“Huh?”

“Helps me sleep,” he adds into his arm. The glow of the night light barely touches his worn out face but something about it must comfort him because his body relaxes as soon as she drops her hand from it. Puzzled, Clarke lays down and though she really doesn't like the light of the lamp, it isn’t too bad when her eyelids are shut. Not even a minute passes until she opens her eyes again.

“Bellamy?”

“Hm?” he answers against his sleeve. It sounds like any second he’s going to fall out of it. Clarke rolls over so she can look at his shut eyes.

“Why didn’t you tell me that light helped you sleep before? Does noise help too? Is that why you’re always ‘accidentally’ leaving the TV on?”

She doesn’t want to hear the answer because she knows what he’s going to say. She waits for his voice anyways. Bellamy shifts a bit and pulls his arm closer to his face so that it’s more covered.

 

“Because it bothers you.”

 

Clarke sits up. She tries to stop it from happening but there's no point. The inevitable tears threaten to escape and her chest rises and falls and she doesn’t understand why there’s so much pain. Her hand is harsh against her eyes but she doesn't care. She wants to scrape the sadness away. 

“Are you crying?” Bellamy asks quietly, the grogginess clearing from his speech.

Clarke tries to say _shut up_ or deny it because she hates how sensitive she can be. It’s been a problem since she was a kid. Getting emotional. It's too hard to speak.

Bellamy doing all these things, hiding his kindness, denying himself for others - that makes her feel so much pain. Doesn’t it hurt him? Ignoring his own comfort? Hiding his misery?

“Jeez, princess,” he mutters all of a sudden and she can barely hear him moving off of his bed. His footsteps sound so far away but in no time he’s next to her. “You don’t have to do that.”

“I can’t help it,” she grits out, swiping away angrily, “This whole time, I didn’t even realize that you - you already don’t get enough sleep - And you do so much -”

 

_For Gina. For Octavia._

 

_For me._

 

“Really wanna do something for me?” he asks in a hushed voice, tiredness returning, “Move over.”

“What?”

“You said it yourself - _I don’t get enough sleep_. I’ll forgive you if you move over.”

Clarke is so flabbergasted that she does as he says, hitting her elbow against the wall in the process. Bellamy flops down next to her and buries his face in the pillow, making himself comfortable.

“No wonder you sleep like a rock. Your pillow is a cloud.”

Clarke rubs at the remaining wetness of her face and has to go over the last few minutes to wonder how they ended up like this. The twin bed is barely big enough for her to sleep comfortably, much less the two of them. She looks down at the tousle of hair that covers Bellamy’s head and decides she’ll let him do what he wants this time.

“Hey,” Bellamy whispers, “Don’t waste tears on me, Clarke. I’ll be fine.”

She doesn’t believe those words but doesn’t say anything. There would be no point. The fact that he’s laying in her bed is proof enough that he isn’t in his right mind at the moment. It doesn’t take long for Bellamy’s breath to go even - indicating he’s finally passed out and she doesn't understand how he can casually come over here like that without a care in the world. 

Cramped, Clarke tries to wiggle under the covers so that they aren’t touching, which proves easier said than done. Although, Bellamy is on top of the comforter so technically there’s a barrier preventing that.

Even if she’s embarrassed by what happened, she hopes Bellamy doesn’t mind her little outburst. Maybe he'll forget by the morning. He’s probably used to it by now though. God, that makes her feel even worse.

Clarke assumes she’ll never fall asleep like this - with Bellamy’s face taking up over half the pillow, his hand pressed into her shoulder, loud breathing by her ear, lamp light in her eyes -

She dozes off the second her eyes fall shut.


	6. Unspoken

“Are you going home for the break?”

Bellamy’s voice wakes Clarke from her trance. She’s been staring at the same page of homework for at least twenty minutes because her mind is in never land. She shrugs.

“My mom is too busy with work so there’s no point going home.”

Bellamy rolls his sleeves up and drags his backpack out from underneath the bed. Annoyance crosses his features and he frowns, sitting on the edge of the bed with a scowl.

“You’re seriously going to stay on campus all by yourself for five days? Won’t you die of boredom?”

“Don’t worry, I have plenty of work to do,” she shrugs again, rubbing her face tiredly. “Besides, I’ll probably _thrive_ in the peace and quiet.”

“That’s subtle,” he replies jokingly, “If you wanted me to leave you alone, you could have just asked.”

“It’s not like I want you to leave,” Clarke slips out, yawning, leaning her head back against the chair. She blinks at the ceiling and then crosses her arms over her chest defensively. “But I think I’ll live without you for a weekend.”

“I don’t know, will you?” he asks, kicking the bag on the floor with the heel of his sneaker. He’s staring at her, she can tell, but she refuses to look. It’s been hard to look at him lately.

“I’ll manage,” she repeats thickly, hunching back over the desk so she can refocus on homework instead. Anything to ignore him. Eventually, Bellamy makes a sound of confirmation - a doubtful one - but drops it anyways and returns to packing.

It’s barely been a week since the party at Murphy’s but Bellamy’s presence has been a lot more _noticeable_ since then _._ And not in the way it was before where every little thing he did bothered her. Instead, she finds herself eyeing the clock for when he’s supposed to come back from class or work and when he _is_ there, she has a hard time getting comfortable.

If her eyes accidentally connect with his, she remembers his sleeping face and the way his breath touched her neck, in a way that was overly intimate and weirdly - _okay._  Even though neither of them have mentioned it and technically their relationship hasn’t changed, something shifted into place that was off before. Clarke can’t tell if it’s good or bad.

“Are you sure you won’t be scared by yourself?” Bellamy mentions lazily, “What if there’s a serial killer on campus or something?”

“You have an overactive imagination,” Clarke replies, shaking her head, meeting his eyes. Boy, was that a mistake. He’s quirking an eyebrow suggestively.

“What?” she mumbles, wishing he would look anywhere else. Bellamy stops packing and sighs, as if he’s getting more impatient by the second.

“What I’m saying is, _maybe_ you shouldn’t be here by yourself. Just in case something happens.”

It clicks what he’s saying and what he’s _not_ saying. She slowly turns in her chair to face him and twirls the mechanical pencil between her fingers. No way is she giving in first.

“You don’t have to worry about me. I’m not gonna go hiking in the woods alone or something ridiculous like that.”

“That sounds _exactly_ like something you would do,” Bellamy grunts, hands paused against the bag. She watches, amused by the mental battle that seems to be going through him.

“I’ll text you every night then so you don’t have to worry,” she suggests. After all, Bellamy _did_ look genuinely worried. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to text him.

“How do I know that wouldn’t be the killer texting me after he’s gotten rid of you?” he relays in disbelief and Clarke can’t help but burst out laughing.

“I think it's time to cut back on the horror novels.”

“It happens,” he shrugs, zipping the bag up loudly. Her heart sinks when he grabs another bag from the closet and picks car keys up from his desk. Apparently she read the situation wrong. She could have sworn he wasn’t actually going to leave.

“Well, text me then,” he agrees dismissively, “You send a thousand emojis per text so I think I’ll know if it’s you or not.”

“Gee, thanks,” Clarke discloses, toneless and stiff. She doesn’t want the disappointment to show. It probably does. Bellamy doesn’t seem to pick up on it at least.

“I’ll see you in a few days then,” he nods nonchalantly, tossing a jacket over his shoulder, stepping into the hallway. Clarke doesn’t bother looking back.

“See you. Have fun at home.”

The door shuts instantly and Clarke let’s a deep breath out. This newfound heaviness when Bellamy leaves the room is probably the worst feeling in the world. If only things could go back to before. It was easier back when she felt relief when he left. Maybe his absence will give her the time she needs to adjust to being alone again. That’s probably the problem. She’s gotten too used to not being by herself.

And nothing is wrong with some alone time.

About an hour passes until she finally believes Bellamy is gone for good. She finishes her homework with a sick feeling in her stomach and has to go grab something to eat so it will pass. The cafeteria is mostly empty and so is the rest of campus. At least half the student body went home for the break already. Clarke buys snacks to bring back to the dorm but once she’s back, she doesn’t want to be there anymore.

It’s uncomfortable.

She texts Raven just to find out she's heading home already.

Clarke does laundry and cleans the room just for something to do. She finishes more schoolwork, finding that there isn’t as much as she thought. It only takes a couple hours to do and by that time, her laundry is done. She checks emails, watches some videos, reads a few blogs, whatever - none of it fills that boredom. Bellamy was right.

She wishes she had more friends to go hang out with or eat dinner with or anything with. It’s been awhile since she’s felt so bored.

The clock changes at a snail’s pace.

Clarke’s eyes fall to Bellamy’s bed, where he would typically be reading some thick, obscure book, while mumbling to himself. She used to hate when he did that. It was distracting. At some point, it became a white noise. A nice one. The room is painfully silent now.

Clarke ties her hair back and opens the window to let a breeze in, hoping to get rid of some of the stuffiness. The wind soothes her skin and nerves but it’s not enough. The daylight fades outside and she almost considers going on that hike. She leans over the window panel and takes in the wind over her hair and face.

What was life like before she came here?

It’s hard to remember clearly. She changed so much in such a small amount of time. The teacher’s pet in middle school, the party girl in high school, the bright eyed girl with a plan last year. How about now? Who is she?

She whips her phone out and texts her mom, knowing she’ll reply after work, and then sends another text to Raven who messages back instantly. She writes about a paragraph to Wells and scrolls further down the contacts.

 

 _Bellamy_.

 

After staring at the blank screen, she types something out to him.

 

_I’m still alive, if you were wondering._

 

Not expecting an answer anytime soon, she shuts the phone screen off and starts up her laptop to find a movie. A few trailers in, she picks a random comedy to lighten her spirit but ends up dozing off halfway through.

When she wakes up, the room is darker and there’s only a faint trace of peach lighting filtering in from the sun. She shuts down the laptop, forgetting what the movie was even about, and lays back. Maybe going to bed is what she needed. Tomorrow she would feel more refreshed. Not so much in this slumped state.

Yeah, that’s what she needed. . . A nice nap. . .

Although that probably won’t help fill the emptiness. The gap that’s grown over time inside of her soul. Since her dad, Wells, Finn, her mom, and Lexa. . .

All so far away. . .

As soon as her eyes close, the door handle jiggles and swings open, letting in white light from the hall. Clarke sits up with a beating heart because she could have sworn she locked the door and _who the hell_ -

“Were you seriously asleep?” Bellamy laughs, stepping into the room, shutting the door behind him. Clarke can barely make his face out in the dim orange glow. “Were you _that_ bored? It’s not even eight.”

It’s barely been half a day since Bellamy left but the weight in Clarke’s stomach lifts and she instinctively hops off the bed, almost as if she’s going to run into his arms. There’s a perplexed concern on his face that prevents that from happening, grounding her back to reality. She awkwardly steps back.

“I was having a nice nap until you barged in. Didn’t you go home?”

That last part was softer than she meant. Bellamy doesn’t move from his spot at the door. He doesn’t have bags with him either, which means he didn’t actually come back. Maybe he left something?

“Yeah, I saw my mom for a couple hours,” he deadpans, “My house is pretty close to school. Then I went to Gina’s and hung out with O for a bit. We all visit home like every weekend.”

Clarke nods like it makes sense but Bellamy still hasn’t explained why he’s back. His fingers dance over the door handle and he shrugs.

“Okay, I kinda lied. I took my stuff earlier because Gina asked me to spend the night over the break.”

Clarke nods again which is silly, like her neck is broken or something. She can’t form words to save her life. Bellamy waits but realizes he isn’t getting an answer and casually tugs on the door handle.

“You should get your shoes on. We’re going on that night hike after all. If you're not too sleepy headed.”

“What?”

Wow, what a smart response. Bellamy opens the door fully and ushers her.

“Gina and O get stupid ideas when they're around each other. They wanna go on a night hike. I thought you might want to come so I told them I’d grab you real quick before we go."

Clarke tries picturing that. Bellamy telling his friends that he doesn’t want to go until he picks _her_ up. She wonders what they must have thought.

“It looks like you’re pretty free,” he adds, glancing back, “ _So_ \- you coming, or what?”

She slowly reaches down to pull her shoes on, letting her messy ponytail fall over her shoulder so it somewhat hides her face.

A lot of questions dare to leave her tongue but they remain unsaid.

That weird tension lingers in the air but they keep quiet about it. It’s probably just in her head and nothing is there or ever was.

She follows Bellamy to the parking lot where his friends are waiting and doesn’t get the chance to say anymore.

 

 

Clarke ends up trailing behind the group because if not, she might go too far ahead. She was always bad at slowing down to walk the track with her friends in gym so she’s afraid she might do the same here. At first, she feels left out of their little circle. Gina and Octavia are almost as close as Gina and Bellamy from the way they talk. Clarke second guesses if coming was a good idea.

But the night sky is pretty and the cool spring air makes it worth it. Besides, Gina and Octavia try to include her in their conversations when possible which makes it easier to melt into them. Bellamy isn’t as talkative. He keeps getting distracted by salamanders on the ground and touching stones in creaks they come across. His fascination never seems to run dry.

Octavia calls him childish and Gina calls him cute. He rolls his eyes at both.

Thunder crackles overhead and Clarke squints up into the rolling clouds. They shadow the stars. It’s strangely calming.

“Watch out,” Bellamy calls, jerking her back by the sleeve. “You almost stepped into the stream.”

“Thanks,” she mumbles, moving out of his grasp reflexively.

It’s cold where he touched her. Bellamy drops his hand and they continue the hike, quieter than before.

Gina holds onto Bellamy’s hand at some point and they cross over some of the rockier areas together. Clarke has to look away.

She’s never been a jealous person so she thinks hard about why it bothers her. Maybe because when they're all laughing, she remembers that sadness that’s been hanging over her. The reality buried beneath her jealousy as Bellamy and Octavia throw their arms around each other and Octavia and Gina huddle into each other for warmth.

She watches how close they are and remembers. She used to have this too.

When the group has circled back towards the campus, Bellamy stops to tie his shoe. He peers over the hill where Gina and Octavia have already moved ahead, watching their figures go beyond the dirt path. He stands up and looks to Clarke.

“What’s up? Are you mad at me?”

Clarke curls up into her own sweater and staggers up the hill, brushing the question off with a roll of her shoulders.

“What are you talking about? Why would I be?”

Even though she isn’t sarcastic, Bellamy goes after her, suddenly so close that she can smell hints of tobacco and winter mint.

“You’ve barely spoken to me all week.”

“That’s not true,” she mutters, hurrying to catch up with the others. Being alone with him is _suffocating_.

“You’re a liar,” Bellamy states, more hostile, “You can barely look at me and I don’t know what I did.”

Clarke really wants him to forget about this and not push anymore. She doesn’t like spelling things out. It’s better to leave it alone. She can’t even explain it herself why it’s become so hard to be around him. It just happened.

Whipping around, she comes face to face with him and decides that’s the best way to deal with it.

He doesn’t look angry as much as he looks confused. Great. She shouldn’t have turned around.

“Nothing is wrong,” she assures, slowly losing face, “I just. . . “

“You just. . ?”

He tilts his head, truly wanting the answer. His dark eyes are seeking and open and everything she’s afraid of.

She inhales and watches as he blinks patiently, like a storm could come and go and he would still be standing there.

“Why did you - “ She stops herself because something flashes in Bellamy’s eyes so she re-words it, “It’s really stupid, Bellamy. Don’t make me say it.”

“Say it,” he urges, starring with a gentler gaze.

What was she supposed to say? Why did you borderline cuddle me? Do you remember doing it? Does Gina know?  

Jeez. It's not like they're in middle school. Stuff like that isn't a big thing. Bellamy said so himself.

“You’re going to Gina’s after this, right?” she evades and Bellamy instantly frowns.

“Yeah, so what?”

Gaze fixated on him, Clarke wonders how Gina could ever want more than Bellamy. She wonders what about him isn’t enough. Because right now, for Clarke, he’s too much. He’s become too important to her. Someone that was never supposed to be. . . Whatever he is.

It frightens her.

Before she can clarify, a drop of water hits her nose. She looks up and another drop trickles down her forehead.

There’s giggling from Gina and Octavia in the distance as the rain falls harder and Clarke turns to Bellamy again. This is her cue to -

“I’ll tell you the truth,” he says suddenly, ignoring the rain that’s picking up, never tearing his eyes away, “I did go home earlier. My mom was there. She was drinking and shooting up on the couch and then after about ten minutes, she went somewhere with a guy I’ve never seen. The house became empty and I hated it so I left. I went to Gina’s house because my sister was there and I needed to see her.”

Clarke’s breath hitches. A sensation comes over her, telling her to reach out but her arms are frozen in place. Bellamy smiles a little, as if to say _don’t pity me_. He pockets his hands, looking at the damp ground.

“And then I suggested the hike because I wanted an excuse to go back to the room.”

More rain trickles beneath Clarke’s eyes but she barely notices it. She wonders if she’s hearing him right. Maybe it’s her imagination. Or the rain is too heavy now. He sighs and glances up, smiling slightly.

 

“I guess I’ve gotten used to that being _home_.”

 

Lightning streaks over the sky and seers the last word into Clarke’s mind. There are undertones mixed in and she wants to find them but they’re lost.

 

“Hey!”

 

Thunder booms and Octavia is near them, face scrunched up.

“What are you guys doing? Come on, let’s get out of this rain before the trail gets too muddy. We’re almost at the school.”

She practically drags them back to the university. When they arrive at the dorm, Clarke has to remind herself not to care that Bellamy is leaving with Gina instead of coming inside.

She says goodnight, unable to look at him as she does.

“Hey, let’s exchange numbers so we can hang out more,” Gina breaks out before Clarke’s in the door, unclinging from Bellamy’s side so she can run up to her. “It was fun hanging out.”

Clarke smiles, surprised when Octavia joins in with her phone out now too.

“If you ever get tired of my brother, just text me and I’ll get you the hell out of there,” she offers, avoiding Bellamy’s kick from behind.

When they’re all done, Clarke goes inside, holding her phone hard in her hand. Warmth spreads over her fingers and the familiar feeling rises through her chest. How nice it feels to have people want you by their side.

All of that need for friendship has made her foggy headed. She’s relied too much on Bellamy when she really needs friends the most. That must be it. 

Heading back into the dorm and locking it behind her, she changes into pajamas and lays under the covers. Her limbs are weak as the fatigue of the hike catches up. She drifts off quickly.

 

 

The sound of the door clicking and opening wakes her. Bellamy walks in, just like earlier, sweeping into the room with water dripping from his hair. She wipes the sleep out of her eyes, wondering if this is a dream.

“Bellamy?”

The clock shows that it’s been a few hours since she fell asleep and it’s still dark out but no longer raining. He practically runs across the room. 

"Come with me."

"Wait, I'm not dressed and I'm -"

"Here," he tosses pants to her from the closet - when did he get there? "Just wear the shirt you have on. Come on."

The urgency in his voice alarms her so she does as he says and follows him outside the dorm. He walks quickly and she keeps up as best she can, wobbling a little  - a side effect of just waking up. 

They make it to the music building, where the piano rooms and recital halls are. Bellamy leads her inside and her curiosity grows. They make it to the top of the stairwell, going by the darkened hallways quietly. 

"We're not supposed to be in here, Bell -"

"We're fine."

He reaches out to the typically locked door on the very top floor and pushes, revealing the roof. A humid breeze traces it's touch over Clarke's face as he holds the door open, signaling for her to go ahead. 

The protest that's about to escape dies when he gives her the  _just do it, please?_ look. Bravely, she steps out. 

The rooftop is damp beneath her shoes and the wind is slightly heavier than it was six stories below. Even though the  _whoosh_ of the door shutting seals them in, it makes this small space more tranquil. Like they're leaving their worries below.

The stars are fading from the smoke screened sky, pooling into a deep violet and navy. Clarke walks closer to the edge of the rooftop, wondering if this really is a dream. Maybe she never got up from bed.

"This is the second time," she states, noticing Bellamy's hesitance at drawing closer. "You've dragged me somewhere random without explanation."

"Not random," he corrects, "Give it a second."

They wait and nothing happens. Clarke's impatience gets the best of her.

"Bellamy, what are we doing?"

"Can't you enjoy life without questioning everything for two seconds?" he retorts, coming up to the edge with her, hands fiddling with his pockets. The scent of after rain lingers in the air, mixing in with Bellamy's scents. 

In the distance, the sun peaks out from the silhouettes of the trees on the horizon, glowing warmly over the university. Clarke is about to speak but stops because blending into the sunrise is a rainbow, creating a semi arc into the sky. The colors ray out into the gold of daybreak. 

Just like last time, her breath is taken. 

"See? I know you're a sucker for landscapes," he states, matter of fact like. "And since you're never up to see the sunrise, I thought this might be a good chance to show you that there's more to life than sleep."

"Questionable," Clarke jokes mildly, wondering how something as simple as the sun making it's way into the sky could have such an effect on her. The brighter it becomes however, the darker she feels inside. It dawns on her that she can't be silent like he wants.

"Bellamy," she breaks out, shifting, "Why do you keep doing this?"

Her heart slows to a tremor. He left Gina's side, the same as he did at the party, taking Clarke with him to escape. Probably because he didn't want to be alone. Not anything more.

"Don't ruin it," he sighs, like he already knows where this is headed. "Don't talk anymore."

Looking from her peripheral vision, she catches the weariness in his gaze, even if it's out at the horizon. There's a way about his stance - caged and closed off. Clarke breathes in.

"This is the second time you ditched your girlfriend and found me. I know what you're doing."

Bellamy steps towards the edge and for a heart-stopping moment, Clarke thinks he's going to fall, but he doesn't - he sits down and dangles his legs from the side. His jaw tenses.

"And what am I doing -  _princess_?"

"Using me to cope when you feel hurt," Clarke tells him bluntly. It doesn't leave a pleasant taste over her lips whether it's true or not. She drags her tongue over her teeth in disgust. Bellamy barely reacts.  

"You have no idea what you're talking about."

"Come on," she sighs, sitting by him, a surge of adrenaline rushing over her as she peers down at the concrete below. Something numb within her prevents any fear from settling. The two say nothing for a few seconds until Clarke cracks. "Bellamy, look, I don't want - "

"I'm not  _using_ you, Clarke," he interrupts, "And I'm not _hurt_. Where do you come up with this stuff?"

"Okay, why aren't you with Gina?" she questions, anticipating the truth. She wants a real answer from him. Not a cop out. Not a joke. 

He scrapes his nail on the rooftop, muscles in his entire body tensing. He glares at her.

"Why are you always worried about me and Gina? You're so damn determined to mention her every five minutes."

"No, I - "

"And guess what," he continues, jerking his knee back up the side of the building, "I left her house because I _wanted_ to. She didn't do anything to make me want to go, she didn't _hurt_ me. I left because I couldn't stop thinking about it - about how all week you've been avoiding me. About if I did something wrong and how I could fix it. So, I didn't drag you up here because I needed an escape from my girlfriend - this is me trying to _fix it_."

Her ears ring and she hears differently.

 

_\- fix us._

  

Bellamy sweeps up so fast that Clarke barely has time to register his words. She opens her mouth and closes it. For once, she _is_ silent. He finally looks at her and then away, as if the idea of it deterred him. 

"I was a moron for overthinking so much. Just forget I mentioned anything."

He leaves then, footsteps already an echo into the approaching morning. Gradually, Clarke gains the nerve to stand. She makes a throaty sound that's somewhere between  _wait_ and  _no -_ and her feet make it to him before he reaches the door. She grabs his arm. 

 

“I miss you, Bellamy.”

 

Bellamy goes still. Well, the honesty train's departed now. Too late for backing out. 

“When you’re gone, I miss you being there,” she clarifies, practically cringing at the confession, “And I hate being that way. I don't want to feel like that. I mean, it's not a big deal but somehow, things don't feel right when you're gone, I guess - I just, I don't know what I mean. I get on edge when you _are_ there because of it. That's why I've been out of it. It's nothing you did."

Her eyes trace over his back and miraculously she isn’t nervous anymore. Relief washes over because the responsibility to tell him is fulfilled. Suddenly, he turns around, mentally shoving her back into a tangle of nerves. 

He blinks, emotions unreadable. 

“Did you want me to stay with you over the break?"

Clarke pauses, response lost. 

"Huh? Um, I. . . "

He leans down a little so they're more eye level and that has her heart jolting like a watt of electricity hit it. She doesn't think she can stand another second of her body's _teenage girl with a crush_  reactions to him. Just to spite herself, she almost denies his question but since all cards are on the table, nods instead.

Bellamy seems more than satisfied by that. His eyes shine and his body language opens up. 

"Then, tell me to stay next time,” he snorts quietly, “Stubborn.”

The heaviness between them dissipates and is replaced with something else, something more breathable. Clarke holds her head higher so she can look him in the eye no problem. 

“Don’t count on it,” she attempts to joke, internally dying from embarrassment of this entire situation. At least the hint of a smile on his features might have been worth it.

"True, I guess only friends would do something like that," he nods knowingly. They stare for a few beats. She slowly grins.

Bellamy practically bounces when they descend the rooftop back to the dorm. She doesn't think she's ever seen him so visibly _glowing_. Knowing she's part of the reason - or the entire reason - is pretty nice. 

Having cleared air felt good. The storm cloud over them has passed. 

Once back at the dorm, Clarke heads to bed immediately. She's already lost enough precious Z's today. Just when she thought Bellamy was going to fall asleep, he speaks up from his side of the room, into the dark around them. 

 

"Hey."

Clarke moves her legs restlessly beneath the covers, wigging her wrist under the pillow.

"Hm?" she answers, trying to hide her disappointment at being pulled back from sleep for the millionth time. Bellamy is quiet and she thinks maybe he was sleep talking or something until he speaks up again. 

 

"I miss you too."

 

She opens her eyes, even if all she can see is the black of the ceiling. Her mind fuzzes. 

"That's really why I came back," he says faintly, sucking in a sharp breath, "I thought it was only fair you knew."

 

Then he turns over like  _that's that, Clarke, let's go to sleep once and for all,_ as if she's the one who's kept him awake all night. She doesn't even mind. She laughs quietly and closes her eyes in agreement - to everything spoken and unspoken. 

 

 

 


	7. For Yourself

Clarke’s considered slapping tape on her droopy eyelids at least ten times by now. The breeze coming in through the window is creating the perfect sleeping environment. Not that she couldn’t nap if she wanted, she’s already finished two lab reports due this week. She was in the clear for the rest of the day. Fighting the urge to doze off, she hops up and shuts the window - careful not to slam it too hard. Bellamy is in his own world at his desk, eyes downcast to a stack of papers about as thick as a pillow.

“You’re studying for finals?” she asks, uncharacteristically breaking the silence first.

“No, I’m reading essays for fun,” he answers dully, shoving a few papers to the side, mumbling. There’s a sternness in his voice, probably due to a severe lack of sleep and a hellish strain of schoolwork. A college kid’s starter pack.

“I wouldn’t be surprised,” she says seriously, going back to the cushioned perch she’s made herself on the bed. He’s never looked so concentrated in his life. In fact, she’s pretty sure they’re role switching right now.

“I could help, if you want. I’m done with my work,” she pipes up, honestly having nothing to do. She always tutored friends before college, maybe it could come in handy here.

“Don’t worry about it,” he brushes off, flipping a page so harshly she thinks the paper might have tore at the edge.

Clarke decides to check emails then, maybe get rid of some clutter. Delete. Delete. Of course tuition is raised next year - delete. She stiffens.

 

_Subject : Room Selection_

_From: Department of Residential Living_

 

Reading over the email, Clarke’s eyes shift to Bellamy. What did she plan to do for housing next year? Stay in this dorm again? There were other dorms to look at too but ultimately. . . What was Bellamy going to do? Would he be living on campus again?

Man, this isn’t the time to bring it up. Bellamy could cut diamonds with the sharpness in his gaze on that homework. _Definitely_ not a good time.

There’s a knock on the door but before either of them can move, it opens.

Gina and Murphy saunter into the room, bringing an aroma of smoke with them. Shutting that window might not have been the best idea.

“Awww, are you studying?” Gina purrs, wrapping her thin arms around Bellamy’s shoulders from behind. She plants a kiss on his cheek. He doesn’t move.

“Everyone thought it would be a good idea to swim at the waterfall after a few beers. Raven sent us to fetch your ass,” Murphy explains their presence from the door frame. He looks to Clarke, interest level dropping to zero.

Bellamy regards them briefly and turns a page of the paper stack.

“I don’t know. I have a shit ton of this left to do.”

“You need to take a load off,” Gina suggests against his skin - in an intimate way that causes Murphy to wrinkle his nose. Clarke pretends not to be listening.

“I have a fucking test in the morning, cut me some slack,” Bellamy mutters, voice weakening as Gina kisses his neck.

“Seriously, cut that shit out,” Murphy tells Gina and from the sound of it, this is a sentence that has been repeated. 

“Don’t get all jealous,” Gina laughs, easing off Bellamy, “You just want him for yourself.”

Bellamy and Murphy simultaneously break out in faces of disgust but seem more amused by the accusation.

“I miss you, we never hang out now,” Gina pouts, curling her fingers over Bellamy’s biceps, lowering her face so that she can see his face. “I never see those pretty eyes anymore.”

Clarke quickly types on her computer just to seem busy. Murphy narrows his eyes and crosses his arms, as if he’s figured out that she’s not actually ignoring them. 

“Gina, if I fail my exam tomorrow - “

“You can retake the class and I’ll do all your work for you,” Gina coos sweetly, not taking the almost threat serious. Bellamy glares at her but draws in a breath and sighs, letting her pull him out of the chair, leaving his work behind. They don’t even say goodbye, they just leave the room. Clarke stares at the stack of papers on the desk and a weird sadness fills her.

“You wanna come?”

Clarke almost jumps out of her skin. Her eyes dart to the door where Murphy is leaning in, staring back as if saying _it’s just a question, don’t read into it_.

“Thanks for asking but I have work,” she deflects, fingers spreading over the keyboard. Gina’s words struck a chord. The girl said she missed Bellamy. She needed alone time with him. Clarke didn’t want to somehow get in between that again. Or was it arrogant to think she would? Augh, stop thinking about it.

“Right,” Murphy replies, lingering. He eyeballs the ceiling and shifts his jaw, dropping his hand from the door frame. “Is that why I heard you tell Bellamy you were done with your work?”

“Were you guys standing outside the door or something? That isn’t creepy,” Clarke crinkles a brow, hoping there’s a good explanation to go with that taunt.

“Something like that,” Murphy discloses bluntly, almost bitter, “Gina’s idea. She thinks you and Bellamy have a thing.”

“Uhh, okay,” Clarke snorts, processing whatever that was supposed to mean, “A thing? We’re not - It’s nothing.”

“Look, it’s none of my business,” Murphy avoids, “But clearly it’s not _nothing_ to Bellamy. He’s not himself since you showed up.”

There’s a pause where he contemplates saying more but decides best of it and eases out of the room, back into the hallway.

“Wait,” Clarke hears herself saying. She’s already off the bed, already across the room, already in the hall. Murphy veers his head in annoyance. Clarke can see Gina and Bellamy at the end of the hall by now, which means they’re out of earshot. She wrestles with her keys in the door handle before walking into step with Murphy.

She wants to ask how has Bellamy changed? Has he said anything about their relationship to Murphy? Looking into that stoic stare, however, she knows Murphy will probably drop dead before he reveals anything else. Out of loyalty - maybe - or he really doesn’t give a shit enough to.

Nobody questions why Clarke tagged along.

 

 

Clarke pokes another marshmallow through the stick and holds it over the fire, watching the bright crackles of ember. The sky is milky blue above, reflecting in the pool of water by the waterfall.

“How’d you get on marshmallow duty?” Raven greets, jogging up and sliding on the makeshift log Clarke’s seated on until they’re thighs are touching.

“I didn’t wanna swim so I volunteered,” she shrugs, “I love making s’mores but there's no chocolate or graham crackers. Want one?”

Raven takes the stick and pulls the gooey white substance off the end, popping it into her mouth.

“Mmm, yum. Now, come swim.”

“Murphy isn’t swimming.”

In the distance, Murphy’s smoking a joint with his - girlfriend? - sitting on the other side of the natural pool. Raven cocks her head.

“Oh, please. If you’re using Murphy as a role model, you’re in for one hell of a life.”

“I didn’t bring a swimsuit,” Clarke excuses instead, plopping another marshmallow on the end of the stick. Raven rolls her eyes, grinning.

“None of us did. Look at Gina in expensive lingerie. And Jasper isn’t wearing anything - then again he’s been drinking vodka.”

“Real smart. Drinking and swimming,” Clarke lectures, watching the crew in the water with the precision of a hawk, “Someone might go under.”

“The water isn’t that deep,” Raven defends, then her lips part, “Wait - are you actually on lifeguard duty? Is that why you're over here?”

Clarke says nothing. Raven takes the stick and steps back playfully waving it around until Clarke stands, hand on hip.

“Do you seriously think I’m going to chase you for a stick? What do I look like? A dog?”

“Have some fun and quit worrying about everything,” Raven laughs, delighted that she at least stood up, “I see wrinkles from all that worrying. It’s about to be summer. Come have fun with us.”

“We still have finals.”

The sound of cicadas in the surrounding woods reminds them that it’s the end of April, only a few weeks until school ends. Raven throws the stick into the bushes and walks forward, resting a hand on Clarke’s shoulder, giving her a squeeze, eyes brightening.

“Which is why we need to enjoy this while we can. If not, we’ll end up lighting our own brains on fire from all the pressure.”

Clarke can relate to that. Raven must sense the shift in perspective because she grabs Clarke’s hand, and they walk closer to the waterfall. The two climb the fairly short cobblestone wall to reach the top, hearing a whistle from one of the others. Once at the water’s edge, Raven strips her shirt - Clarke’s just noticed she hasn’t gotten wet either - and then elbows Clarke.

“Your turn.”

“This is ridiculous.”

“The water’s great!” Jasper shouts from below. Good thing it’s a bit murky so she can’t see his birthday suit. Oh, there’s his friend Monty. Also possibly in his birthday suit.

“We can jump together if you’re afraid,” Raven teases harmlessly. Clarke notices Bellamy from here, with his head ducked in the water so that it’s covering the lower half of his face. The fluff of raven hair moves eerily towards Octavia. She wonders what the hell he’s doing until he gets right behind his sister and sinks under, pulling her by the legs. Octavia screams and Bellamy pops back out of the water - enduring her endless splashing with an earnest smile.

Unable to bare with Raven’s cool gaze any longer, Clarke flings herself off the edge. She’s wearing a tank top and shorts anyways, who cares?

The adrenaline dies as soon as she hits the water and is replaced with a serene, chilling sensation that strums it’s fingers up and down her skin. Her toes touch dirt and pebbles. Her mind blanks out. Her hair fans out around her shoulders. She shoots back up, breaking the surface and gasps, taking satisfaction in the shouts of the teenagers around her, and then swims out of the way when Raven dives.

They have a splash war and a mini game of marco polo, then Raven gestures secretively. Clarke follows and they end up behind the waterfall, a hollow crevice that blocks the rest of the world out. It’s peaceful and puts Clarke into a state of ease she never thought possible.

“Remind me again that you don’t have the hots for Bellamy,” Raven says suddenly, pointing a toe out at the gushing water, letting her head fall back on the slick stone. Clarke rubs at her bare shoulders and turns her head - realizing how close they are.

“No, I don’t, I told you that I - “

“Okay, great.”

Raven kisses her.

It’s so unexpected, Clarke shuts her eyes instinctively. It doesn’t last long. Raven moves back and licks her shiny lip, obviously trying to read Clarke’s reaction. Clarke’s eyes fly open and she wants to find the right words.

“Um, Raven. . . “

“Dammit, I suck at timing,” Raven groans, “I’m sorry. That was uncool of me.”

“I’m just caught off guard,” Clarke gets out, wondering if anybody could see what they did from the cloudy veil of the waterfall. If Bellamy saw. . . 

Oh.

Why did she think of him first?

“I thought you might - do you even - Are you into chicks?” Raven interrupts, almost murmuring it to herself. Clarke laughs at that and the tense atmosphere is gone as soon as it came.

“Into both,” she clears up, adoring the slight blush that’s now on Raven’s cheeks. It’s rare to see her embarrassed. Raven is beautiful, inside and out, that much Clarke knows, but she also knows, they can't go there.

“You’re such a good friend, Raven,” Clarke begins which only earns another groan from Raven.

“Oh my god, you did not just drop the _friend_ bomb.”

“No, I mean - I don’t know. I’ve ruined so many friendships by becoming more,” she adds slowly, reaching out to touch the flurry of white, “You’re pretty much my closest friend here. I value what we have. I don’t want to mess it up.”

“That’s such a cop out,” Raven smiles, “But I’ll take it if it means you don’t hate me for macking on you.”

“I will never hate you,” Clarke retorts and then nudges her shoulder. Her smile fades. “Did I hurt you?”

“Don’t give yourself so much credit,” Raven laughs, pushing Clarke back into the pool of water. Clarke flails in the air all of two seconds before breaching the surface.

Raven dips in afterwards and they’re playing around as if nothing happened.

Feeling a little dizzy, Clarke leaves the water, heading back to the firepit where she happens to find Bellamy. He’s dressed in dry clothes, although his hair and parts of his skin are still damp.

She contemplates sitting next to him but thinks better of it.

Bellamy twirls a marshmallow in the flames idly, hardly attentive to anything around him, not rousing when Clarke crouches by the pile of dry towels on top of Raven’s backpack. She uses one to ring out the ends of her hair.

“Did I take your job?” he questions, moving slightly over as if making space on the block of wood. Charcoal is starting to form on the bottom of the marshmallow.

“Yes and you over toast,” she replies, “You’re fired.”

“Who died and made you marshmallow queen?”

Clarke drops the towel into a used pile and doesn’t know what to do with herself now. Bellamy peaks at her, wondering the same thing from the looks of it. In a deep breath, the words come out faster than she can stop.

“Raven kissed me.”

Shit. She really blurted that out. Wow. A+ job on keeping it a secret, Clarke. Not that it had to be.

Bellamy doesn’t look nearly as surprised as she expected, he simply roasts another marshmallow, paying no attention to how black it gets.

“Hm. I thought she was going for Wick,” he muses, practically dropping the stick in the fire completely. Clarke reaches out and pushes the stick up so it isn’t slack and halfway into becoming a forest fire hazard. He doesn't seem to care. “So, what happened?”

“I told her I wanted to stay friends,” Clarke shrugs, feeling guilty about spilling the beans now. Maybe Raven didn’t want the whole world knowing she just got rejected. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have told you.“

“Then, why did you, princess?”

Clarke’s knees start to hurt from the position she’s in by the fire. Bellamy rubs his hands over his pants.

“Seriously. I’m not gonna bite. Unless you want me to. Oh, wait, maybe that’s Raven. . . “

“Shut up,” Clarke blushes, dragging herself onto the log with him out of obligation - yeah, obligation, that's it. Why _did_ she tell him? It isn’t his business. Some force of nature opened her jaws and practically jerked the information out of her windpipes.

“Go ahead. Confide in me,” Bellamy smirks a little, kicking some dirt, “You know you want to.”

“You are so arrogant.”

“You feel bad about friendzoning Raven. There. Not so hard to admit, was it?”

“Don’t be an asshole.”

“As a third party," he starts, whisking the stick back and forth like a little kid, "I would tell you not to worry about it. Raven bounces back from shit all the time. This might beat her up for all of zero point two seconds and then she’s back to her hot tempered, hard as nails self.”

The fire light flickers over Bellamy’s features. He peers at Clarke, almost in a studious way - searching for an answer that isn’t there.

“Why not Raven? Not your cup of tea?”

“I’ve had girlfriends,” Clarke exhales, wishing she didn’t have to make a big announcement about being bisexual everytime the subject came up. “Actually, my last relationship was with a girl.”

“Date an alien for all I care,” he tells her, biting the end of the crunchy marshmallow. In other words _It's fine that you're into girls too, idiot_. “Give me details.”

Clarke tucks her hands under her stomach and leans into the warmth of the fire.

“We dated at my previous college. Her name was Lexa.”

“Is that it? What else?”

Clarke smiles, resting her chin on her palm. Memories of Lexa were nice and Bellamy acting interested was even nicer.

“It was one of those instantly fall in love kinda things - we just did. Literally. We kinda hit it off when we first met -”

“Mhmmm ‘hit it off’,” Bellamy grumbles knowingly, stuffing another marshmallow in his mouth straight from the bag.

“Don’t be lewd,” Clarke rolls her eyes, snatching a marshmallow of her own for roasting since he was done with the stick, “Anyways, Lexa’s family didn’t approve of us dating. She didn’t care what they thought but I did. Her family meant everything to her. I couldn’t come between them. Lexa was almost done with her degree anyways, she was about to have a career and I didn’t want her life to get messy because of me. I transferred here because I knew she wouldn’t let me go on her own.”

Bellamy is quiet. He stops eating the marshmallows and stares into the fire for a while. Clarke puffs air out from between her cheeks.

“Anyways. That’s how I ended up here.”

There’s shouting from the waterfall area - looks like Octavia and Jasper are arguing about something - but Bellamy doesn’t seem very bothered by it. He kicks a stone on the ground with the tip of his shoe.

“You know, you run away from everyone who matters to you.”

The cicadas chirp louder, like a whole family of them are nested behind their bodies. Across the water, Murphy and Emori are walking into the pool with all their clothes on.

“Why would you say that?” Clarke asks softly, closing in on herself, arms encircling her torso, knees tucking back.

“If Lexa was willing to put you over her family, that was her choice, not yours,” Bellamy states gravely, “You can’t decide what’s best for everyone all the time. Is that why you don’t want to be with Raven? You’ve already decided she’s better off with someone else?”

Clarke’s skin tightens over her bones. She shoots him a cold look.

“Maybe some people need to be told what’s best for them.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Bellamy squints, dropping the marshmallow bag.

“You don’t exactly make the most admirable choices,” she leers, surprised by how steely her own voice has gone. Bellamy reflects that surprise in his gaze until it mists over, going darker.

“Oh? Enlighten me.”

“Forget it,” she let's out tiredly, losing that sudden flare. She stands up. "I need some air."

"You're outside," Bellamy points out, mouth a thin line.

Going red, she takes off for the woods, shoes digging into the hardened Earth. Even in her anger, she makes sure to avoid stepping on flowers as she makes her way up the hill towards Murphy’s estate.

Maybe Bellamy wasn’t all wrong. She had a habit of making decisions for others. But in her defense, it was the right decisions for everyone. She had made sure to make logical choices, like with Lexa - it was better to let her start a life without some one semester fling romance ruining it. It sure as hell was the right decision.

Clarke bustles up the hill, remembering Lexa’s loving gaze. The one directed at her. She grasps at the throbbing area in her temple. She made the right choice to leave. She did. It was the best for them both.

“Clarke, tell me,” Bellamy booms from behind, his voice echoing over the treetops. Clarke’s fingers scrape over the tree bark and her head whips to him. He juts his chin out. “Tell me, what you meant.”

“Don’t, Bellamy, I’m not in the mood,” Clarke warns under breath, afraid of her unstable condition at the moment. Bellamy doesn’t seem to care.

“Be pissed off, if that’s what it takes for you to tell the truth. I can handle it.”

“Why did you come here?” Clarke breaks out, chewing the inside of her cheek, “You have an exam in the morning you’ve barely studied for ontop of other work - so _why_?”

“Since you’re so good at knowing what I want,” Bellamy snaps, stepping forward, hands pocketed, “Why don’t you just tell me instead?”

Clarke curves her wrist over the tree trunk, facing her back to him. She couldn’t say it. At this point, mentioning anything Gina related is like throwing acid on open wounds. She knows it.

“Why are _you_ here, Clarke?” Bellamy changes tact, “Don’t say for Raven, she didn’t invite you - we both know she didn’t expect you to show up during finals.”

“Murphy asked if I wanted to come. I had nothing better to do.”

At least it isn’t a lie. The hammering in her chest pounds harder with every step Bellamy takes.

 

_He’s not himself since you showed up._

 

Clarke doesn’t want to think about that. What Murphy meant.

 

_Clearly it’s not nothing to Bellamy._

 

“Yeah, like you’re BFF’s with Murphy,” Bellamy responds. Clarke drops her hand from the tree trunk and turns around, a newfound rage swelling up.

"Where are you living next year, Bellamy?"

Now is not the time. Not even close. Yet, knowing that answer would shed light on everything. At least for Clarke. She waits but no answer. Livid, Clarke walks up to him. 

"Don't worry, I won't make that choice for you," she ends spitefully. In that silence is his answer and the pain that comes with it is more than she predicted. It sucks. Knowing that Bellamy isn't saying anything else, Clarke turns away.

“I need to go study. I’m heading back."

Bellamy’s fumes have died by now. He tears his eyes away from hers.  

He doesn’t even object or try to stop her as she ascends the hill further and further away.

  


 

Clarke can’t help it when she gets like this. Making decisions that are supposed to be rational but end up emotional instead. She’s scrolling page after page through the descriptions and costs of each housing complex on campus and off campus.

Go co-ed again or no? Get a single? Augh, expensive. Maybe an apartment would be cheaper.

Unable to sit in the room, she ended up in the lobby but there isn’t a soul in site at least. Probably all at the library.

Clarke stretches her limbs on the couch numbly, wishing she could fall asleep here. She doesn’t want to be in the same breathing space as Bellamy for at least another twenty four hours - 

Speak of the devil.

Bellamy pops in and slips a dollar into the vending machine for a coke bottle. Clarke counts the seconds he’s there. _Ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen -_

He pops the cap off, sips it, then slips another dollar in.

_Please, go away._

A peach tea this time. He waltzes towards the door but makes a sharp turn and hops over the couch, landing dangerously close to where her legs are sprawled out. She’s about to yell at him but he scooches further and lifts her calves, dropping them onto his knees.

“Here,” he says, nonchalant, pressing the peach tea into her leg. She scowls and grabs it, stirring until she’s comfortable again. Then she remembers she’s mad at him and gets ready to stand but he places his hand on her shoe.

“Are you really so pissed at me, you hid out in the lobby of all places? Like I wouldn’t run into you eventually?”

“I’m not pissed,” Clarke defends, drinking the peach tea - her favorite - with reluctant gratitude. Her throat had shriveled up from the heat. “I don’t want to be near you all the time. Did you think about that?”

“Hm.”

Clarke fidgets with the cap of the tea. Bellamy toys with one of her shoe strings. 

“So, you’re looking at housing stuff for next year,” he says, “Did you pick one yet?”

The tea is suddenly too cold on her teeth, freezing her tongue and gums. She gulps as slow as possible and then when there’s none left, meets his eyes.

“Not yet.”

“Hm.”

The air thickens and she waits for Bellamy to speak again but he never does. She waits for him to leave or make a smart comment but he stays where he is, fixated on her shoestrings.

“Wouldn’t it be cheaper for you to stay at home since it’s close by?” Clarke exclaims, just for conversation. She can’t stand this silence.

“It’s better for me here,” he reveals, untying one of the shoes. She doesn’t know the reasons but by the way he says it - she understands. It’s like Bellamy’s words always convey hidden messages that have to be translated, even if they’re presented lucidly.

She looks at him wearily.

“What about Gina? Or your other friends? You have people around you but you wanted to live with a stranger? How'd that happen?”

“Gina lives in a sorority house, remember? And me and my friends might get along but we know our limits. We wouldn’t survive a day living together - none of us. Murphy would probably get us expelled, Raven - just, enough said - Jasper and Monty would blow up half the room with their experiments and they’re inseperable anyways but. . . You get the point.”

Clarke shuts the laptop down and lies back, comforted by his voice. Him talking about himself and his friends and his life.

"So, where are you gonna live?" Clarke attempts a second time. Why won't he spit it out already?

Bellamy is quiet. Clarke sits up, crossing her arms over her thighs. 

"Hey, you can tell me."

He blinks at the shut off television hanging on the wall, then drops his head back on the couch. 

"I've been thinking about it and I don't know if I wanna come back next year."

"What? Bellamy, why not?" she asks, hoping this was some kind of joke to get her back. His thumb tugs on the loop of the 'bunny ear' he tied and he chuckles. 

"I don't know, it's tiring. I think I'll be fine becoming a security guard or something like that. It's not like I have a big 'dream' or whatever. It's pointless."

The tone and inflection of his voice scares Clarke. As if he's given up before this conversation. As if this has weighed on his mind for ages.

"I know I said it's better for me here but my mom needs me and money is tight," he goes on, eyes shut, "So, I guess it's best if I cut out early."

There it is. The hidden message. _Doubt_. He inhales through his nose and exhales, poking at the edge of Clarke's sock.

"Try not to be too bummed out, I know it _crushes_ you," he jokes, breath hitching when Clarke drags her shoes out from his grasp and reaches out, taking his hand in her own, acting on all action and no thought. 

 

"Stay."

 

She whispers it fiercely, losing all sense of herself. His eyes open, heavy, gazing through his lashes.

"I know that you don't believe that," she shakes her head, squeezing his palm gently, "You have a dream, Bellamy, all you need is a push in the right direction. Don't give up. Not yet. _Stay_." 

Bellamy's lips part and he stares back in awe, at a loss. 

"You matter to me," she confesses -  _and I'm not pushing you away -_ "And you deserve to be told this. Don't go home because that's where you think you  _need_ to be. And don't stay here if this is where you _need_ to be. Go or stay because you  _want_ to. Do something for yourself."

The door to the stairwell opens and an echo of voices breaks the quiet. In a flurry of laughter, the group of students exit the building, sealing them alone again.

“You’re not so bad, Clarke," Bellamy drawls, smiling at their intertwined hands, “I take back what I said earlier. You really try to do the right thing for everyone. You’re a pain in the ass but you worry because you actually care."

Clarke flushes, never knowing how to respond correctly to compliments. 

"Since it's _you_ asking, I'll consider it," he murmurs, removing himself from the couch. He yawns and stretches his arms over his head. "If you'll excuse me, I have a test to rise and shine for. I better catch some Z's."

Once he's at the door, Clarke's hand curls up reflexively where his used to be. 

"Don't pick housing without me," Bellamy orders, swigging on the coke bottle, "Don't even think about it."

He maneuvers backwards, out of the room, squinting accusingly at her. A smile creeps up before she knows it.

"I won't. Since you _insist_."

There are crinkles under his eyes when he returns the smile and then he's gone. Clarke is too tired to run all the dumb things she did or said today through her head. She let's it stay a clean slate for now. Catching a glance at the clock on the wall, the gears in her head start to shift again and she jumps up. 

"Wait - I'm gong to bed too! Don't you dare lock me out - "

Bellamy's laughter bounces from down the hallway. 

 

 


End file.
